


Haeddu

by Amatia (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, Magic, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-15
Updated: 2010-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Amatia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's only so much death a man can stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tacere

**Author's Note:**

> For complete notes and translations, please see Chapter Six.

**one** (present) 

"I can't," Harry panted, trying to ignore the thin trickle of blood coming from Draco's temple, from the cut that Harry had caused when he'd shoved Draco against the rough wall. "I still hate you." 

"Of course you do, Potter," Draco sneered. "Feeling's mutual." 

Harry let go of him. Draco straightened his shoulders and started to walk away, toward the mouth of the cave. Harry stared after him. "After all these years, you can't just turn around and - " 

"But I did," Draco said quietly, so quietly that Harry almost missed it. "I can. You don't know what it's like, being there. Having his hold on you _so strong_ that it's like the imperius curse, forcing you to do things against your will." 

"He's used imperius on me," Harry replied. "So don't try and tell me that I don't know, Malfoy, don't _ever_ tell me that I don't know something when it comes to Voldemort." 

Draco turned, and his steely eyes met Harry's. "There's plenty you don't know about the Dark Lord," he hissed. He pushed his sleeve up, fumbling almost, and thrust his arm at Harry. The Dark Mark was an ugly red reminder on his pale forearm. "And there's things you'll never know." He let the sleeve drop. "Why don't you just mind your own bloody business and let me do my fucking job." 

It wasn't a question. Dropping from Draco's thin lips it was almost an order, and the full weight of what they were doing there in that damp cave finally struck Harry. Draco was supposedly turning spy, at great personal risk. And he, Harry, had been assigned by the Ministry to move the information Draco had, as if it was something tangible, ship it from Draco's lips to the Minister herself. 

"Your fucking job _is_ my business now," Harry replied. "As much as I hate that fact, as much as I think you're just toying with us, as much as I can't stand to be within six feet of you. It's my job, too. I don't want to be around you any longer than you want to be around me, so let's just get this over with." 

Draco smirked and kicked at a pile of stones, causing them to scatter. "Thirty second truce, eh Potter?" 

"Shut up, you bastard, or I'll slam you into the wall again, and I won't be so nice about it this time." 

"I'm _so_ scared." 

Harry bit back a scathing reply. It wouldn't do the Ministry any good for them to revert back to their Hogwarts ways, although for the most part they already had. "Just say what you need to say, and get the hell out of my face." 

"I suppose that's a fair enough deal." Draco wiped at the blood on his face, which had started to dry, and it smeared on his sleeve. "Oh, that's fantastic," he muttered. 

Harry started to say something, and stopped himself, marveled for a second at his self control. Turning down the opportunity to insult Malfoy twice was rare. "Tell me what this important information is, and you can go back to being a Death Eater." 

Draco sneered. "After today I'll never be a true Death Eater again." 

"And that's a choice _you_ made." 

Their eyes met and held, and Harry's fingers itched for his wand. He looked away first, wanting Draco to think he had the upper hand, at least for now. Draco took a breath. "I suppose I should start at the beginning - " 

"A very good place to start." 

" - seventh year, when Dumbledore got called away by Fudge to investigate those Muggle deaths - " 

"Wait, what about our seventh year?" 

"Pay attention, Potter. As I was saying, my father came to me at the end of our seventh year, when Dumbledore got that urgent call from Fudge to help investigate the four or so Muggle deaths that the Ministry was so sure the Dark Lord or one of his followers had committed." 

Draco stepped over a few large stones, leaned against the wall of the cave and folded his arms across his chest. Harry noted that his trousers were perfectly creased, but there was a rip along Draco's left shin, presumably from their earlier tussle. "And?" 

"My father came to Hogwarts, took me from my dormitory without any sort of permission from McGonagall or even letting anyone know I was gone, took me to the Dark Lord, who gave me his Mark." 

Harry could remember that night and the subsequent day, firmly planted in his mind as 'the day Malfoy was missing'. He could remember the look of terror in McGonagall's eyes when they realized he was missing, and her refusal to speak to any of the students about where Draco was. Instead she'd let him brush it off as "a family emergency, Professor, my presence was necessary" the following day when he'd returned. He realized now that she must have know what had happened, but due to Ministry silence regarding Voldemort, was most likely forbidden to voice her suspicions - to anyone. 

He found his voice. "You didn't try to fight him?" 

A harsh laugh escaped Draco. "Fight my father? Fight _Voldemort_? Destroy the Malfoy family honor? Don't be stupid." 

"You're destroying family honor right now," Harry hissed. 

"You don't need to remind me," Draco replied coldly. "I'm doing this because I have to, for my own peace of mind, for my own sanity." He paused. "And I still owe you, Potter." 

Harry could remember that, too, the summer that Lucius Malfoy had been taken to Azkaban and Draco hadn't been allowed to go home. 

**two** (past, Hogwarts 6th year, summer) 

Harry stared at the letter he'd just untied from Hedwig's leg. It was from Uncle Vernon, informing him that because he, Vernon Dursley, had given himself a substantial raise at the drill factory (not to mention a promotion), the entire family plus Piers Polkiss was taking a vacation to Majorca. 

Uncle Vernon was really not sorry, but he said he was, because the entire family didn't include Harry. He was to stay at Hogwarts for the summer unless Ron or Hermione could take him in until school started back up. 

Ron and Hermione were both going on vacations as well. Hermione was planning on visiting Krum in Bulgaria, and Ron was going to spend the summer in Romania with Charlie and the dragons. Harry was definitely not going to invite himself along, because it just wouldn't be fair to Ron or Hermione. 

So he took the letter to McGonagall, who read it and nodded, and she in turn took it to Dumbledore, who'd called Harry to his office. 

"Peach gummy," Harry said to the statue, and it slid aside for him to walk though. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his fingers steepled, and looking more tired than Harry had ever seen him before. 

"Ah, Harry, sit down," Dumbledore gestured to the chair, then clapped his hands hands together. A pitcher of pumpkin juice and two glasses appeared. "Professor McGonagall has informed me of your situation with the Dursleys." 

"I'm sorry, Professor, Uncle Vernon - " 

Dumbledore raised a hand. "I know. And as long as you feel comfortable spending the summer here, you may stay. But there is something you should know." 

Harry nodded and waited. 

"Draco Malfoy will be spending the summer here as well," Dumbledore said calmly. "And before you jump to the conclusions you are so apt to jump to, let me tell you something in strict confidence." 

Harry nodded again. 

"Draco's father has been taken by the Dementors to Azkaban." 

Harry felt his jaw drop. He blinked, and tried to compose himself. "What for?" 

"I'm not sure on that myself, Harry, the Ministry is keeping very quiet on this one." The look in Dumbledore's eyes made Harry think that he indeed knew, but wasn't going to say. "I'd like to ask that you not mention to Mr. Malfoy that you know, and try not to make it any harder for him than it is." 

It was the closest Dumbledore had ever been to flat out reproaching him. "Yes, sir," Harry murmured. "I'll be sure not to mention it to Draco." 

"Thank you." The twinkle was back in Dumbledore's eye. "Juice?" 

**three** (past, Hogwarts 6th year, summer) 

Students who were staying for the summer were all moved in to Ravenclaw dormitories, and Harry found himself sharing a room with Draco, the Creevy brothers, and a second-year Ravenclaw named Jack Fenniger. The Creevy brothers had thankfully grown out of their hero-worship, and Harry was almost glad they were around. Dennis was spectacularly good at chess, almost as good as Ron, and Harry passed a lot of the time staring at the black-and-white board trying to figure out a way to win against him. 

Draco spent most of his time ignoring Harry, and Harry was glad to return the favor. The Slytherin boy was withdrawn and quiet, and Harry almost felt sorry for him, for a second. Draco spent most of his time reading or playing wizard's chess with Millicent Bulstrode, the only other Slytherin there. Crabbe and Goyle were notably absent. 

With the exception of Draco, there were no other Quidditch players at Hogwarts, and while Harry practiced by himself on his Nimbus 2050, it just wasn't the same. 

So he shoved his dislike aside, and went to ask Draco if he wanted to join him on the Quidditch field. 

Draco stared at him for a moment. "This your idea of a sick joke, Potter?" 

"You wish, Malfoy," Harry said, testily. He wanted to play Quidditch more than he hated Draco. "And besides, if you're the only person _I_ have to play Quidditch with, I'm the only person _you_ have to play Quidditch with." 

It wasn't the best logic in the world, but Draco nodded. "All right. Let's go." 

Harry was careful not to walk too close to Draco as they went to get their brooms, stored in the dormitory for the summer. He didn't want it to look like they were getting along, because they weren't. And he was sure that Draco didn't want it to look like that, either. 

"You ready?" he asked Draco, out on the field, as Draco hovered slightly on his new top-of-the-line Cleansweep. 

"Just get to it," Draco snapped. 

**four** (past, Hogwarts 6th year, summer) 

Off the field, Harry barely spoke to Draco except to trade sneering insults. But on the field, they didn't speak at all. They just showed up, at one o'clock each day, and battled it out with their broomsticks, a bludger, two bats, and the Golden Snitch. 

The afternoon it happened started like every other afternoon had, with Harry releasing the snitch first and the bludger second, after tossing Draco his bat. Draco immediately hit the bludger toward him, and Harry ducked out of the way. As the bludger zoomed back around, he knocked it in Draco's direction and sped off across the field. 

The snitch was hiding, so they hit the bludger back and forth for a few minutes, trying different flying patterns to both avoid and approach the charmed iron balls. Then Harry saw a glint of gold, ten feet to Draco's right, and sped toward it. 

Draco saw it a second later and took off. In a flash they were side-by-side and shoving each other in the knees as they chased after the snitch. Suddenly it dropped, and they followed, plummeting towards the green at a furious speed. It hovered right above the green, winking at them in the sun, and they both stretched out their arms - 

Harry pulled out of the dive at the last possible second, the snitch clutched firmly in his hand. 

"You bastard," Draco panted from twenty feet above him, and Harry started to grin, but right then a bludger smacked Draco in the stomach, sending him backwards completely off his broom and hurtling back down towards the ground. 

Before he could even form a thought, Harry was following him towards the grass, faster than Draco was falling, fast enough to fly underneath Draco and catch him awkwardly two feet above the green. 

**five** (present) 

"You _do_ know things we don't know, right?" Harry asked, interrupting Draco's narrative. 

Draco frowned and drew himself up to his full height, taller than Harry, looking at him through narrowed eyes. Harry could see then why the Death Eaters who'd worked under him had been so reluctant to speak of the Malfoys when interrogated. Draco at his most serious was utterly chilling. "Yes, Potter , I do." 

"I haven't got all day." 

"You have as long as it takes me to tell you," Draco said evenly. 

Harry glared at him. "Malfoy - " 

"Tell me, Harry, how would you feel if you were seventeen, and you had no choice but to submit yourself to a man who found his greatest pleasure in killing people?" 

"You could have gone to Dumbledore before it happened, asked him to protect you." 

Draco shook his head. "I didn't know how bad it was, so I couldn't have asked for protection. Especially not from Albus Dumbledore; you of all people should remember that I never cared for the headmaster." 

"I don't understand how you could not have a choice ," Harry said firmly. 

"You didn't have a choice in having the Dark Lord put Avada Kevadra on you, did you? No. I was a child, seventeen. What would I have done after I'd disobeyed my father? Hidden out at Hogwarts for the rest of my life, afraid he would come after me? No." 

"You _wanted_ to be a Death Eater," Harry snapped. He was losing patience in the summer heat, made worse by the close walls. 

"Yes," Draco replied, just as coldly. "I did, then At the time I had no idea what being a Death Eater _meant_. And then it was simply too late. This Mark will never leave me, Potter. No magic known to man can remove it." 

"What about other magics?" 

"I don't know. I haven't tried." 

Harry nodded, thinking he'd have to look in to that later. Once he got out of this damned cave. "Let's get back on the subject here, and you tell me what it is you came to tell." 

**six** (present) 

"I can see you're not too pleased with this news," Percy Weasley was saying, "but this is your new assignment, Harry." 

Harry was too busy wanting to do something drastic to the Minister's head assistant to pay much attention to the words that had followed "Draco Malfoy has now totally deserted the Death Eaters, and it's your job to protect him." 

"Percy," Harry hissed, "You know that Malfoy and I don't get along, at all, ever." 

"The Minister is aware of that fact, however - " 

"Percy!" 

"I'm sorry, but you're the best we've got when it comes to You-Know-Who." 

"For Merlin's sake, call him Voldemort, will you? Saying his name won't make him appear and crucio you," Harry snapped, and Percy flinched. 

"This decision came from the Minister herself," Percy said slowly. "You can take it up with her. And don't try and go to Hermione, either, she doesn't know." 

Harry stared at him, shocked. "Hermione doesn't know? But she - " 

Percy cut him off. "No one knows except for the Minister, me, and you. And Mr. Malfoy, of course." 

There were times when Harry hated his job, which was working in the War Office, a fairly new department at the Ministry. Mostly he hated the fact that it got a little too personal sometimes, and even downright annoying when he was referred to as 'Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived', but since everyone else who'd had as much experience fighting Voldemort was either dead or Dumbledore, there was really no place else he'd rather work. Ron's stories about the Ministry Treasury got extremely boring at times. 

Harry focused his attention back on Percy. "Where is he now?" 

"Here." 

"Here?" 

"There's no place safer, besides Hogwarts, and even that isn't too safe these days." 

"So where _exactly_ is he?" 

"In your office." 

Harry groaned. "Percy, don't take it personally, but I fucking hate you. " 

"That's quite understandable. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to assist the Minister at an important Magical Cooperation meeting; it's quite interesting, as Ali Bashir has managed to sign..." He trailed off, because Harry was already walking away. 

Draco was indeed in Harry's office, leaning back in Harry's chair, his feet on Harry's desk. Harry growled at him. "Get your bloody feet off my desk, and. Sit. Over. There!" He gestured to the chair placed opposite the desk. 

Draco smirked at him, and did as Harry requested. "Happy to see you too, Potter." 

"Seeing as I can't order you to leave, will you please explain why you're here?" Harry tried not to look at Draco, instead straightening the papers his feet had scattered. 

"I'm no longer a Death Eater." 

"As long as you have the Mark on your arm, you are," Harry countered. "And I don't trust you not to run back to Voldemort the next time it burns." 

"I've made my decision, and it's a final one. My absence from the ranks has no doubt already been noted by those under me, and by my father and the Dark Lord himself. A Death Eater does not go missing unless they have turned themselves in, so it will be obvious what I have done. The moment I surrendered myself to the Minister, I left the Death Eaters, and I can never return." 

Harry took a moment to think about what Draco was saying. He couldn't return without being killed, and he would now be hunted, so he'd come to the Ministry in hopes of escaping death at Voldemort's hands. His earlier passing of information, in the cave, regarding the possible attack on Hogwarts had saved him from death at the hands of the dementors. "I hope you didn't ask for me personally," he muttered. 

Draco said nothing, and Harry had the sinking feeling he'd done just that. "I have other responsibilities, you know," he continued. 

"I know. But I also know the Minister has made me your top priority. I'm sure Granger can cover for you." 

It was said in a mocking voice, but Harry could tell Draco was at least a little afraid. Draco knew the reasons why Harry was the best person for the job. "You'll have to cooperate fully, with anything the Ministry wants to know." 

"Anything I know, you will know." 

Harry nodded. "And for your information, Hermione might be my boss, but they haven't told her about you deserting." 

"The less people who know the better, I suppose," Draco replied. "I'd assume she'll find out eventually, what with you spending all your time making sure I don't get killed." 

"Don't," Harry ground out. "Don't put that responsibility on me." 

"But is on you, Potter. Percy Weasley just told you it was." 

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You say one negative word about Percy and I'll - " 

"You'll what? Kill me yourself?" Draco let out a laugh and leaned back in his chair. "That would defeat the whole purpose of this, now wouldn't it?" 

Harry swore under his breath and wondered briefly why he wasn't turning this insufferable son-of-a-bitch over to Voldemort himself. "I suppose you think you'll be staying with me," he muttered. 

"Where else would I stay? It's a 'round the clock assignment, you do realize." 

"Fuck off," Harry grumbled, standing up. "And get your cloak, we're leaving." 

**seven** (present) 

Harry took the bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky and two glasses from his cupboard. "You have to tell me everything," he said to Draco, who was sitting on the couch. "You have to tell me everything or I can't protect you." He poured the firewhisky, tapped his glass with his wand and said, "_Intepescere! _ Do you want yours cold?" 

"Firewhisky? No." Draco took his drink from Harry's hand. "You ask me questions, I'll answer. Since you know practically the whole of it from the last time we saw each other." 

"Fair enough. Tell me why you're a deserter." 

"You make it sound like I'm a horrible person," Draco said dryly, then drank half the contents of his glass in one gulp. "But I suppose in many ways I am," he continued, quieter. "You're right, Potter, I am a deserter. Because I couldn't do the things Voldemort wanted me to do any longer. I know when we were in school together you thought there wasn't a single kind bone in my body, and at the time, you would have had to dig pretty far to find some goodness in me." 

"So what happened?" 

Draco raised his eyes to Harry's. "There's only so much killing a person can stand," he whispered, and drained the rest of his drink. 

Harry was shocked, not that Draco had killed, but that he'd admitted he wasn't infallible. "How many?" he asked, his voice low. 

Draco shook his head. "If you care anything about my state of mind, you won't ask me that. Not yet." There was more than a touch of desperation in his voice. "I thought killing was power at first," he murmured. "And power over others was what I wanted." 

"What is it you want now?" Harry asked, and lifted his glass to his lips, not looking at Draco. 

"Some more of this firewhisky." Draco stood. "You?" 

Harry held out his glass, wordless. Draco obviously didn't want to answer that question yet, either. 

"Unless we put an end to this soon, the Dark Lord will be stronger than he ever was before," Draco said from the kitchen, his voice carrying clearly across Harry's flat. "If we don't stop him before he tries to destroy Hogwarts, I don't know if we'll be able to stop him, ever. And then the killing won't stop until every witch or wizard that has a drop of Muggle blood in them is dead." 

Then there was the sound of glass shattering, and Harry heard Draco's gasp. "Are you all right?" he asked quickly, sharper than he intended. 

"I'm fine," Draco murmured, his back still to Harry. Harry crossed the flat quickly. Draco had crushed the glass in his hand and left liquor, blood, and bits of glass dripping down onto the floor. There were slivers of glass embedded in his palm and fingers. It was his wand hand, and he was fumbling for his wand with the other. 

Harry wrapped his fingers around Draco's wrist, stopping him from raising the wand. "Let me do it, Malfoy." 

Draco's lips twisted. Harry lifted his own wand. "_Mederi! _" 

The shards flew from Draco's hand and into the refuse can, along with the rest of the glass. Harry released his hold on Draco's arm. "There." 

"Thanks," Draco muttered, flexing his fingers and rinsing his hand in the sink. "I won't squeeze it so tight next time." 

"There won't be a next time," Harry said firmly. "Go sit down, Draco, and let me handle it, all right? Isn't this what I'm supposed to be doing?" 

"Getting me drunk?" Draco laughed, but it was a harsh sound. "Please tell me I have my own room, so I can go sit in there. Alone." 

Harry was almost glad there was no glass in _his_ hand, or they'd be facing the same situation again with the roles reversed. "Through there," he snapped, pointing at the short hallway. "The first room on your right." 

"Thanks." Draco said it with a defiant tilt of his head, and Harry was sure he wasn't thankful at all. 

He walked away, and Harry looked at the liquid mess on his floor, Draco's blood and the firewhisky mixing and congealing into a thick, sticky fluid. He took a cloth from the drawer beside the sink and wet it, almost glad for some real physical work, glad to get his mind off the total mystery that he'd been ordered to unravel. 

**eight** (present) 

Harry was awakened the next morning by a insistent tapping on the glass, a full hour before he technically had to drag himself out of bed. "Whatisit," he mumbled, fumbling for his glasses and shoving them on. There was an owl outside the window, the Minister's own private messenger, and Harry felt his heart sink. "Now what!" 

He went over and opened the window. Gemini hooted softly at him and held out her leg. He untied the note, patted her gently. She flew off, back to the Ministry, he supposed. He unrolled the small piece of paper. _See me immediately,_ it read. Harry groaned. 

Note in hand, he went out into the kitchen. Draco was sitting at the table, a mug of coffee in his hand. "Morning," he said sourly. 

Harry dropped the paper next to him. "It's from the Minister." 

"I suppose I'm to accompany you." 

"Mmm." Harry poured himself a cup of the coffee, sniffed it. "You're not trying to poison me, are you?" 

Draco gave him such an ugly look that Harry almost laughed. "Guess not." He poured sugar into the steaming liquid. "Get your robes on, we'll Apparate there." 

Draco grunted and swallowed what was left in his mug, then got up. Harry stirred the sugar in and watched Draco's door close. 

They Apparated to the Minister's outer office ten minutes later. Percy was already at his desk, looking expectant. "You can go right in, Harry." He did not address Draco, who looked down at him disdainfully as they walked past. 

"Good morning, Harry," Bau said pleasantly as they entered her office. "Take a chair. You too, Mr. Malfoy." 

Harry slipped into one of the chairs opposite the Minister's desk. It wasn't a big office, she hadn't wanted to use the large ornate room that Fudge had occupied. "What can I do for you, Mathilde?" 

"Our sources have confirmed the information Mr. Malfoy passed to us last month," she said crisply, wasting no time. "The attack on Hogwarts is supposedly scheduled to take place in three weeks' time. I'm afraid that leaves us with very little room for preparation." 

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. "Three _weeks_?" 

Bau nodded. "I'd like the two of you to leave immediately. Albus is aware that you're on your way." 

"What are we to do at Hogwarts until the attack?" Draco asked. 

"Whatever the Headmaster asks of you," she replied. "Good luck, the both of you. Dismissed." 

Neither of them looked at Percy as they left the outer office, ignoring whatever it was he was saying to them. 

"I just don't see why the Minister would want us there," Harry growled. He was seething with anger as they hurried down the main Ministry corridor after having stopped quickly at his office. "It's quite possibly the most dangerous place for you to be right now, and that's where she sends us. I don't understand it." 

"She sent us," Draco replied curtly, following Harry down the hall, "because I can _help_, Potter. I know you don't believe me, but I can." 

Harry stopped and turned, looking Draco in the eye. "It'll just be more killing." 

"I understand that." 

"I thought that's what you wanted to get away from." 

Draco grabbed his arm, the first time he'd touched Harry since Harry'd slammed him against the cave wall a month ago. His grip was firm and sure. "We have to stop it," he breathed. 

Harry stared at him, trying to stare _into_ him, as if it would help him understand Draco better. Draco did not blink, nor did he look away. Finally Harry shook his head as if to clear it and said, "Then let's go. We'll have to Apparate in the invisibility cloak to Hogsmede and take the tunnel underneath Honeyduke's in so that we're not seen at all. Doubtless we'll scare a few students when the statue of the one-eyed witch appears to move by itself, but Dumbledore knows we're coming." 

Draco nodded. "All right." 

"All right. My flat, first." Harry disapparated. 


	2. velle

**one** (present) 

Several students shrieked as Harry emerged from behind the statue, Draco behind him in the invisibility cloak, but Minerva McGonagall was standing in the hall as well, and the students recovered quickly and hurried on their ways. "I do hope you know what you're doing, Harry," she said as they followed her towards Dumbeldore's office. 

"Rest assured, Professor, I don't," Harry replied. 

She looked sideways at him. "You - " 

"The Minister sent me without much information. All I know is what was told to me by the informant." He coud feel Draco next to him, hidden. 

McGonagall's lips drew into a thin line, exactly as they had done when he was a student. They were outside Dumbeldore's office now. "Chocolate-covered cherry," she told the statue wearily. 

"He's still using the names of candies," Harry said in wonder. 

Dumbledore stood when they entered the office, and shook Harry's hand. "I'd say I was glad to see you, Harry," he said, "but under these circumstances I'd best save my breath." 

Harry nodded, squeezing Dumbeldore's bony hand for a moment. Then he looked at where Draco was standing, still invisible. "You can take it off now, Draco," he said dryly. 

McGonagall gasped as the cloak fell away. "Mr. Malfoy!" 

"Hello, Professor." He smirked at her. 

McGonagall looked from Harry to Dumbledore and back again. "Explain what this - this _traitor_ is doing here! Immediately!" 

"He's turned spy," Harry said softly. "He's here to help." 

"You don't really believe that!" 

Harry looked at Draco. "Not yet. Draco has yet to prove himself an ally. But his information about the attack here has been confirmed by other sources, and Mathilde has appointed me his... his bodyguard, I suppose is the best way to explain it." 

"So he can rot the Ministry from the inside out," McGonagall hissed. "I don't trust you, Malfoy, I never have." 

"Minerva," Dumbeldore said, his voice even. "Perhaps you should take a seat and listen to what Mr. Malfoy has to tell us." 

McGonagall took the chair farthest from Draco, her eyes sharp and never moving from his form as he spoke. 

"The Death Eaters have been planning an attack on Hogwarts to take place in three weeks' time," Draco began. "No doubt Dumbledore is their primary target, but there is reason to believe the Dark Lord will also order that all Muggle-borns be killed as well." 

Harry's eyes went wide. "Wait, you never said anything about that before!" 

"I didn't want to start a panic, Potter! The Minister knows, and she had the final word in whether or not the school should be evacuated, so it's out of your hands." 

"Actually," Dumbledore interrupted, "I had the final word. And I chose not to evacuate the school. I should think that between all the Professors, Harry, and I, we can protect the school. And you both know the school has it's own magic." 

"Magic that the Death Eaters have learned to sidestep," Draco informed them. "It will slow them down a little, but not enough that _they're_ worried about it." 

"How do you know so much about this attack?" McGonagall asked worriedly. 

"I was supposed to lead it." 

Another thing Draco hadn't mentioned. "Professors, would you excuse us for a brief moment?" He grabbed Draco by the upper arm and pulled him into the small antechamber. "You never said a fucking word about that!" 

Draco's eyes flashed. "I did, to the Minister." 

Harry realized what it was he was feeling. Disappointment. Disappointment in Draco. "You were supposed to tell me _everything_ , Malfoy." 

"And I would have, given enough time!" Draco shoved him, roughly, and Harry's shoulder hit the wall. "For fuck's sake, Potter, this is as fucked-up to me as it is to you. I don't trust you yet. You don't trust _me_ yet. But we have to work together on this, or Voldemort will win!" 

Harry had never seen Draco so shook up. He nodded. "All right. But

Draco - " 

"What?" 

"Don't lie to me again. I do have permission to kill you if you turn against us." 

"I'll keep that in mind." 

**two** (present) 

Harry spent the next week learning to live with Draco. He'd done it before, but it hadn't just been them. Dumbledore gave them a suite of rooms far from the student dormitories but as close to the center of the school as they could get. The Ministry sent a trunk full of Harry's things, and McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey went to Hogsmede to buy Draco's necessities. 

"I don't see why I can't go with them," Draco muttered, sitting in front of the fire, a book in his hands. "If I wore the Invisibility cloak, Potter, it would be fine." 

"You don't know that for sure. Besides, you remember how the cloak fell partway off of me outside the Shrieking Shack our third year. You can't afford a slip like that." 

"That was low and dirty, slinging mud at us." 

"Yeah, dirty's the word I would pick too." 

Draco gave him a glare that would shatter glass, and turned back to his book. "What are you reading?" Harry asked. 

"It's all in Gobbledygook, you wouldn't understand a word of it." 

Harry walked behind him and looked over Draco's shoulder. " '...twelve ninety-three, when Erg the Righteous inscribed these words on the stone wall that was the base of our kingdom, let no one pass here unless he is worthy in body and worthy in _legargh _'", he read aloud. "You underestimate me, Malfoy. I can read Gobbledygook, and speak it well enough to get through a conversation." 

"Oh, really?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "_Karuk-u-maj, har-ee? _" 

"_Vangut u-jab, neegah! _" 

"That's passable, Potter, but you need to put some more phlegm into it." Draco chuckled and turned back to his book. "Especially when insulting someone's mother," he said over his shoulder. 

"Don't call me a cocksucker," Harry grumbled. "Hell, I'm going to bed. Better than standing here wanting to do you in." 

"Yeah, yeah," he heard Draco mutter as he headed towards his room. "I'm dead no matter what I do." 

The next morning, Harry woke before Draco and went to find the maps of the school. Madame Pince looked at him crossly over her glasses. "They're in the Restricted section, of course." 

"I don't suppose you're going to make me get a signed note from Dumbledore," Harry replied, smiling at her. Madame Pince looked exactly the same as she had when he was a student. 

"No, Mr. Potter, go ahead." 

Harry found the thick volume that housed all the offical maps ever drawn of Howarts (and a few unofficial ones) on the top of a very long, very tall shelf. "I'll need to take this back to my rooms with me," he said to her, climbing back down the ladder. 

"I suppose that's all right. Do be careful with them, though." She looked as stern as he'd ever seen her, and he nodded and left the library. It was between classes, and the students passed him doing both directions. It was strange, to be back at Hogwarts but pass through the crowd without people really taking notice. He supposed he was less of a mystery to this generation. He was glad of that. 

Draco was reading again when he enterted the small common room they shared. "Goblin again?" Harry asked. 

Draco shook his head and closed the book. "French. Fairy magic, actually." 

"You've got me beat there," Harry admitted. He hefted the large volume. "I went and got the maps." 

"Because we don't know the school like the backs of our hands." 

Harry frowned at him. "We can't know _everything_ about the school's layout and design, Malfoy." He set the book on the low table in front of the sofa. "We have to at least identify all the methods the Death Eaters could use to get in." 

"Well, under my leadership, they were to use the Northeast door of the Astronomy tower." Draco flipped pages quickly. "Here," he said, pointing. "In through the lower level of the tower here, up this single flight of stairs, across this short hallway to the student dormitories. The passwords were no problem, it's easier than you'd think to use a Confusing Charm on the paintings. Then we were to terminate as many Muggle-borns as possible, as well as Dumbledore." 

He said it all in a cool, steady voice, and Harry stared at him in shock. "How can you be so coldhearted?" he blurted. 

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched slightly. "If I was really coldhearted I wouldn't be here telling all of this to _you_, of all people. Damnit, are you ever going to believe that I no longer have any allegiance to Voldemort?" 

"You have stopped calling him the Dark Lord," Harry said in reply. "I suppose that's a step. But it could just as easily be a trick." 

Draco stared at him. "Just when I think we're getting somewhere, you go back to square one," he murmured, standing up and slamming the book closed. "Well fuck you, Potter. I may have been brought up knowing I would one day be a Death Eater, but I wasn't brought up to simply _serve_ until Voldemort decided I was no longer useful and killed me." He strode across the room towards his bedroom. 

"Stop right there," Harry ordered, his wand out and pointed at Draco. 

"Going to kill me without looking me in the face, eh Potter?" Draco drawled, but he didn't turn around. "It's all you've wanted since I first came forward with information. No one will doubt your judgement. All you have to say is that I turned on you, and there will be no questions asked. So go on, kill me." 

Harry didn't move. He could hear Draco breathing. 

"Kill me, damnit! It's got to be better than this half-life I'm leading!" 

"No," Harry said, and slid his wand back into his pocket. He was trembling. "I can't kill you, Draco." 

Draco turned and stared at the fire. "You might as well. I won't make it out of this alive." 

"You will. I gave my word that I would protect you." 

"But you never gave your word that you would die for me, Harry," Draco said quietly. "And don't try and tell me you would. Don't say another word at all." 

He walked into his bedroom and closed the door. Harry heard the click of the lock. A futile gesture, _alohamora _ would take care of that in an instant, but he knew it wasn't really Draco putting a physical barrier between them. It was Draco telling Harry that there was no more to tell. 

**three** (present) 

The week leading up to when they thought the attack would take place was like the summer after their sixth year. They spoke only when necessary, spitting insults in every language they knew, trying to look civil in front of Dumbledore and McGonagall. They made their plans for protecting the castle, cast security spells on the Great Hall and the worried students slept there every night. 

McGonagall voiced her panicked concern to Harry, in private, about Dumbledore not sending the students home in order to avoid the whole problem. "But that's not the problem," Harry assured her. "They would have to take the train to King's Cross. That provides a target for the Death Eaters. They would be in their homes, and you know as well as I do that the Muggle homes don't have the magical protections of Hogwarts. We don't have time to put wards on them all. I know that it doesn't seem like it right now, but Albus is keeping them here for their own protection." 

She polished her glasses on her robe. "To tell you something in confidence, Harry, I don't feel as safe here as I used to. After Severus was killed, I started worrying that Voldemort could come in. Take over the whole place. Put the Imperius curse on everyone and control us all." 

"He's been in here before, Minerva, and you know it." 

"But he was weak those times. Even that last attempt your sixth year, he was too weak. And people were on the defensive again, after what happened to Ginny Weasley." 

"People are on the defensive now," Harry responded. 

"I don't trust Malfoy," she said quietly. "He was a rotten child, and he's a rotten man." 

Harry swallowed. "He's trying to help." 

Her glasses flashed in the light from the window. "You don't trust him either. I can see it in your eyes. I don't have to be Sybill Trelawney to see that." 

"If you were Professor Trelawny, who knows if you would have," Harry said wryly, and McGonagall hid a smile. 

**four** (present) 

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin," he said to Draco the following day, who raised a brow but continued reading. 

"Yet it put you in House Gryffindork." 

"I told it I didn't want to be in Slytherin." 

This was enough to cause Draco to close his book. "And why not?" 

_There wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin . _"At the time I thought being in Slytherin automatically made you a Dark Wizard," he said slowly. 

Draco was watching him with interest. "And now?" 

"It doesn't really matter, does it. It's all in the choices you make." He looked at Draco for a moment. "Or the ones that are forced upon you." 

"And you made the choice to _not_ be in Slytherin." 

"You think anything would have been different if I'd been sorted into Slytherin?" 

"Quite a few things," Draco said cooly, opening his book again. "You would have had to work for the respect you got, that's for sure." 

"But I - " 

"You didn't. It was given to you, because you were the Boy Who Lived. You earned it later, I suppose, with Quirrell and the Chamber and everything else. But people would have been a hell of a lot more impressed with you had you come from nothing and done what you did." 

"I did come from nothing," Harry spat. "_You_ live with the Dursleys for ten years and see how you like it." 

Draco wasn't swayed. "Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger came from nothing. Look where Hermione is now. Face it, Potter, you got your job because of a freak accident when you weren't even old enough to tie your shoelaces." 

"Never thought I'd hear you say that about Hermione." 

"Never thought I'd have to trust you with my life." 

"Point taken." 

Draco smirked. "Besides, if saying something nice about _Hermione_ means I can insult you, I guess I have to suck it up and be nice." 

"I'm sure she'll be ecstatic to hear it," Harry said dryly. 

**five** (present) 

The attack came on a Wednesday, just after the doors of the Great Hall had been sealed, with ghosts and teachers standing guard outside and the prefects standing guard inside. Dumbledore had refused any extra protection from the Ministry, and he was calmly waiting with McGonagall near the Great Hall. 

Harry and Draco were waiting, not so calmly, in the hallway that formed a cross with the one the Death Eaters were supposed to be taking. The castle made a moaning noise as they entered, and Harry heard a noise that might have been one of them screaming. They'd bewitched several stinging vines outside that door, and several other doors, to attack anyone who wasn't students or staff suddenly and without any provocation. 

They took down the first two masked Death Eaters with _petrificus totalis,_ and slid the immobile bodies out of sight. From further down the hall Harry heard McGonagall's "_Expillarmius!_" then several voices shouting "_Stupefy! _". 

It was obvious the Death Eaters had not revised Draco's plan at all. "How stupid are they?" Harry murmured to Draco. 

Draco was looking at the immobilized men they'd just moved, his eyes narrowed. "There has to be more to it," he whispered back. 

Another Death Eater approached, and Draco pushed Harry flat against the wall before they could be seen in the dim light. "_Aveugle _," Draco murmured, moving his wand in a way Harry had never seen before. The masked person continued past them, didn't even look in their direction. 

"What was that?" Harry whispered as they hurried in the opposite direction. 

"Elvish charm," Draco murmured in response. "Makes us invisible to him for about fifteen seconds. Or rather, he doesn't think to look at us." 

"You'll have to show me - " Harry froze as an unmasked man came around the corner. 

"Father," Draco gasped. 

"Hello, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said, wand in hand, a cunning smile on his face. "I see you've caught him for us." 

"_Expillarmus! _" Harry shouted, and the wand flew from Lucius' hand into his own. 

Lucius simply smirked at him. "Do your duty, Draco, and kill him," he said to Draco. "Put him out of his misery, my boy." 

Draco's eyes narrowed, and he rounded on his father, motioning for Harry stay back. "Don't you say another word about Harry, you selfish bastard," he hissed. 

Alarm became apparent on Lucius' face. "You don't mean that." 

"I do." 

"They've tricked you boy, you're - " 

"_Crucio! _" Draco roared, and Lucius screamed. 

It was the second most horrible thing Harry had ever heard in his life. "Draco, stop!" he shouted. 

"Shut up, Potter." Draco's tone sent a cold shiver down Harry's spine. "This is my problem to handle. You let me deal with him." 

"Draco," Lucius gasped, "Draco, I did everything for you, I created you, you're my own flesh and blood - " 

"You made me what I am!" Draco howled, his face suffused with red and his hair standing almost on end. "I can never, I _will_ never, forgive you for that. I will never forgive you for giving your seventeen year-old son to a killer, _turning_ your son into a killer!" 

"Please, Draco, don't do it," Lucius whimpered, raising himself up on his hands. His gaze was trained on the wand in Draco's hand. "Don't, son. Please. You're my son, I love you - " 

"Shut up," Draco said, and his voice was more chilling than Harry had ever heard before. 

Lucius was almost sobbing, his hand stretched toward Draco. "I'm your father. Your father! You can't do this to me, you can't." His voice turned pleading, cajoling. "They'll send you to Azkaban for killing me without permission, I know they will. Spare me, Draco." 

_You're begging for your life, _Harry thought at he watched Lucius, _and you can't even look him in the eye._

"Spare me," Lucius moaned again. 

"It would be in your best interests to _shut your fucking mouth_!" Draco screamed at the man before him, and Harry startled. Draco's aim did not waver. 

"Don't do it, son," Lucius warned, his eyes never moving from Draco's wand. "You let me go, and I'll make sure Lord Voldemort pardons you. I swear it." 

"You don't have that kind of power," Draco hissed. Harry watched in horror as he raised the wand fully and pointed it straight at his father. "_Avada Kevadra ! _" 

Brilliant green light shot from his wand and struck Lucius in the chest, causing him to writhe in pain for a brief moment before movement, and life, ceased entirely. His dead eyes stared straight at them, accusing. Draco shuddered once before slipping his wand back into the pocket of his robes, and Harry looked away. Then Draco turned toward him. "The siege will end now," he said quietly. 

In seconds, the castle's moaning had stopped, and in another few seconds there was cheering from the Great Hall. "Thank Merlin it had strong enough magic to keep those kids in, and the Death Eaters out," Draco murmured, looking in the direction of the Hall. "But now that my father is dead, the few Death Eaters who remain will flee too fast for us to catch them. Back to Voldemort. And they will carry with them the news that I killed my father." 

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly. 

Draco looked at the crumpled form on the stone floor. "There lies a man who cared only for himself and his own advancement. He would have killed me had he had the chance. Had he not been stupid enough to think I was a double agent. No one should be sorry he's dead." He looked back at Harry. "Are we leaving now?" 

"I - I don't know. We'll have to owl the Minister." 

"Then let's do that." 

Draco started for the Owlery, and Harry hurried to catch up. "Draco." 

"What?!" 

Harry shrunk back slightly. "Thank you." _For not letting Lucius kill me. For not killing me yourself when you had the chance._

Draco spun on his heel so fast that Harry stumbled slightly, his eyes flashing in his face, which was paler than normal. "No need to thank me, Potter. I simply returned the kindness you showed me that summer on the Quidditch pitch." He continued towards the Owlery. "You remember the book in Gobbledegook I was reading a a few weeks ago." 

"Yes." 

"You didn't translate _legargh _. Do you know what it means?" 

"Honestly, I'd never seen that word before." Harry skidded slightly on the slick floor of the Owlery. 

"You might have learned a slightly newer dialect of Goblin." Draco fished a scrap of paper from the pocket of his robe and thrust it into Harry's hands. 

Harry resisted the catty urge to write 'saved Hogwarts for the dozenth time, Malfoy not a big of a bastard as I thought' and instead wrote _L.Mal. x'ed by son's hand. All else ok. DEs never near A.D.; hide D.Mal? Send word to Hg. w. Gem - H.P. . _ He tied the note to the barn owl's leg, stroked her feathers for a moment. "Go," he told her, and she went. 

Halfway down the steps Draco fell, gasping and retching, and Harry dropped beside him. "Malfoy, what - " 

Draco grabbed his hand and squeezed so hard that Harry thought the bones would break. A strange noise escaped Draco's lips, then his entire body relaxed against the steps. He blinked several times, finally focusing on Harry. "Help, look," he rasped, trying to push the sleeve of his robes up. 

Harry did it for him. The Mark was glowing red, horrible. Harry felt a wave of nausea, and his scar began to burn. He let the sleeve fall back down. Draco's eyes closed and he breathed deep and even. "_Legargh ,_" he whispered, "Harry, it means... worthy in mind and worthy in soul, and the rest I can't even translate into meaningful English." 

Harry nodded. "Ssh, don't talk. I'm going to take you to the hospital wing." 

Draco put a hand on his chest, stopped Harry from lifting him. "You are _legargh_," he said, so quietly that Harry had to lean close to hear him. "And you have to help me. Will you help me?" 

"Yes," Harry said. 

**six** (present) 

He led a shaken Draco to their suite instead of the infirmary, conjured him a cup of tea. "Do you even know what that was?" he asked, sitting beside Draco on the sofa. 

"It was Voldemort, calling to me," Draco said, his voice tinged with sober amusement. "It was only a matter of time, really. I'd been expecting it sooner, but perhaps the magic of this place shielded me until they truly knew I was here." 

Harry looked at him in disbelief. "You knew it was going to happen?" 

Draco nodded. "It happened to all the deserters before me." 

"But it didn't happen to Snape or Karakoff." 

"He wasn't strong enough then. But their Marks burned, you remember." 

Harry did remember. "So once he was strong enough, he could torture just using the Mark." 

"That's the basic idea. Of course, it can't be sustained, even Voldemort doesn't have that kind of power. The true idea behind torture through the Mark is to weaken the deserter, weaken them until they go crawling back." 

"And then he kills them." 

Draco nodded and stared at the fire. "I won't go back. Potter, I need you to promise me something." 

"I don't make promises without knowing what they are." Harry sipped his own tea. 

"Give me your word that you'll end my life before I go back to Voldemort." 

Harry almost dropped his cup. Only his Quidditch reflexes saved him from it spilling all over his lap. There was a knock on the door, and they both jumped. Harry stood to answer it. It was Dumbledore. 

"Are you both all right?" he asked, looking from Harry to Draco several times. 

"We're fine," Draco lied. 

Dumbledore fingered his long silver beard, as if he was organizing what he was going to say. "Lucius' body has been taken care of," he said quietly to Draco after a long silence. "If you like, the official word will be that I ended his life. I know you worry about your mother." 

"Thank you, Professor," Draco murmured. "But word will reach her soon enough that it was me who killed him." 

"Nonetheless, there will be a cover story put in place, and the Daily Prophet will run only an obituary." 

Draco nodded. Dumbledore looked at Harry. "You realize we will be asking even more of you now." 

"I know, Albus." 

"You are welcome here as long as you need," Dumbledore said gently, and left. 

"Do you feel better now?" Harry asked Draco. 

"Somewhat." 

"Do you think you should sleep?" 

"I really don't care to sleep right now, Potter. But you can. You don't have to sit up with me. I'm going to read, anyway." He held up his book. 

"Draco?" 

Draco turned his eyes to Harry and raised a brow. 

"How soon will you have another... attack?" 

"I'm not sure exactly, but." He shrugged. "About three days. The Dark Lord is nothing if not persistent, and torture through the Mark is quite a lengthy process. The goal is to cripple the mind, not the body. But towards the end they will come every few hours, and even every hour. Most don't last past that." 

"How long until it reaches that point?" 

Draco looked down at his book. "Three months at most." 

"And there's no escape? No cure?" 

"Not unless you find a way to remove the Mark from my arm, and so far, no one's found a way. Rumour had it that Snape was getting closer when Voldemort had him killed, but there's no proof." He turned a page. "Go to bed, Harry." 

Harry wrapped his arms around his knees. "I'd rather not." 

"Suit yourself." Draco turned his attention back to his book. 

Harry listened to the tick of the clock and watched the fire slowly die as night faded. Draco fell asleep in his chair, the book hitting the floor with a dull thud. And in the cool morning, he watched the orange-gold light of the sunrise creep over Draco, and thought about Hermione's old time turner and the nature of human magic. 


	3. audere

  
**one** (present)

The response from the Minister came extremely early in the form of a dishevelled Percy Weasley apparating just outside the Hogwarts grounds. "I came to deliver the Minister's message in person," he told Harry, Draco, Dumbledore and McGonagall inside Dumbledore's office. Students were still asleep. "You have to go into hiding, Harry. You have to choose where, so that only you and Draco know."

"You're not saying anything that's new to me, Percy," Harry said testily. He was tired, having gotten no sleep. Draco didn't look much more rested, and McGonagall's eyes were red-rimmed. Only Dumbledore looked as if he'd gotten any sleep at all.

"Four Muggle-born wizards were killed last night," Percy said quietly. "That's the most that have ever died at once with the exception of Pettigrew and Black's battle on the street twenty years ago. It hasn't made the papers yet. Harry - "

Harry was shaking his head. "Please tell me it wasn't Hermione. Please."

"No, Hermione wasn't hurt. She's under protection now as well, though. But the real message here is that You-Know-Who is out for blood. Your blood," he said to Draco, adressing him for the first time. "And yours," he said to Harry.

"Tell us something we don't know," Draco replied. "Look, Weasley, unless you know how to get this Mark off my arm, there's really nothing left to say."

"I don't. And as of right now, no one at the Ministry does, either."

Draco sighed. "I should just go now, let him kill me," he muttered.

Harry grabbed his wrist. "No. I won't let you. We'll find a way to get the Mark off. There has to be a way. Percy, you tell Hermione about this. I don't give a damn that the Minister doesn't want her to know. You tell Mathilde that is imperative that Hermione know, because Hermione knows where to look for answers."

Percy paled at the thought of disobeying the Minister. "Harry, you know

I - "

"Percy Weasley," Harry hissed, letting go of Draco. "I am invoking my authority as head of the War Office and Special Consultant to the Minister of Magic right now. You tell Hermione. That's an order."

  
Percy paled even more. "Yes, sir."

"Dismissed," Harry snapped. "Oh, and Percy - "

"Yes?"

Harry softened his voice. "Will you please tell Ginny I'm sorry that I won't be able to attend her wedding."

"I'll let her know."

Percy walked out of the office as Harry turned his attention to Draco. "We need to leave as soon as possible."

"Whatever you need from us, we will provide you with," Dumbledore said, speaking for the first time. "Hogwarts owes you both a great deal."

"We need to get as far away from here as possible."

Dumbledore nodded. "Transportation can be arranged."

Harry looked at Draco, slumped in his chair. "You said that the magic of Hogwarts had protected you?"

"For a while, it did."

"All right." Harry knew where to go, or at least, he had an idea. "We'd best leave now," he said to Draco, handing him the Invisibility cloak, and they headed back to their quarters.

"I know you said Granger was your boss," Draco asked as they threw their things into Harry's trunk, "but what exactly does she _do_?"

"Hermione's the Senior Consultant. If Mathilde Bau died tomorrow, Hermione would be Minister of Magic."

Draco nodded. Harry thought that he managed to look impressed and repulsed at the same time. "And she might know about removing the Mark?"

"If she doesn't know anything, she'll find someone who does."

"There's no magic known to man that can remove it," Draco reminded him. "I've looked."

"Then we'll have to try a different form of magic." Harry shut the lid of his trunk and locked it. "Are you ready?"

"Yes. Where exactly are you proposing to hide me, Potter?"

"We're going to Floo to the Swish &amp; Flick Tavern. I'll explain the rest when we're there. We're leaving from the fireplace in Dumbledore's quarters. You have the cloak?"

Draco was arranging it around himself. "And the trunk?"

"We've a cart. I'll haul it."

They made their way through the still quiet halls to Dumbledore's rooms. He was waiting for them. Flames flickered brightly in the stone fireplace. "Are you sure you shouldn't stay?" he asked Harry.

"It's best we don't." Harry shook Dumbledore's hand. "Thank you for the kindness you've shown us the past few weeks."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Thank _you_, Harry, and you as well, Draco, for saving Hogwarts."

Draco acknowledged this with a sharp nod. "Are we leaving or what?" he said to Harry.

"In a minute, Malfoy."

"You're the one who's so keen on getting out of here," Draco continued icily.

Harry glared at him. "Lay off, will you? I'm not exactly overjoyed about spending however long it takes to cure the Mark with you either, but I'm going to try, because it's my job. Maybe you should give it a shot." He looked back at Dumbledore. "Thanks."

"Be careful." Dumbledore leaned close to speak in Harry's ear. "There's more here than you realize, Harry. And much more at stake." He straightened, took the dish of Floo powder from the mantle and held it out. "Good luck."

Harry looked at Draco and nodded. He threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and shouted "_The Swish &amp; Flick!_"

He'd learned how not to choke on the soot since his first botched attempt at fire travel back in The Burrow, but no one had quite figured out how to emerge at their destination without some ash on their clothes. Harry was rubbing it out of his hair in The Swish &amp; Flick when Draco fell out of the fireplace, also smudged with soot and ash.

"Where the bloody hell are we?" Draco snapped, brushing at his robes as he looked around. The tavern was empty, it was early morning, and sunlight caught them both brightly through the window.

"Glamorgan County."

"Wales?"

Harry nodded, pushing the cart towards the door. "Put the cloak on, we've got a walk ahead of us."

Dew glittered on the grass, and it was still cool, and Harry started towards the East. He could hear Draco's footsteps slightly behind him sending up small clouds of dirt along the rustic county road.

"I doubt the Ministry would fault you if you left me right now," Draco said once they'd gone about a third of a kilometer.

"You want me to leave?" Harry panted, wrestling the cart as they went uphill. Suddenly it wasn't as hard to maneuver, and he realized Draco was pushing as well. His invisible body bumped against Harry's, and Harry understood why Hermione had always been creeped out when he'd worn the cloak.

"Staying with me just puts you in danger. You think your luck with the Dark Lord is going to last, Potter? It may seem like he's more preoccupied with his attempts to kill Dumbledore than he is with you right now, but it won't last."

"I take my job very seriously," Harry said quietly. "What I am doing for you I would do for anyone else, even - ." He stopped. "There isn't anyone I used to hate more than you except Voldemort. So the fact that I am doing this for you should prove just how seriously I take my position. But that doesn't mean I like you."

"Doesn't mean I like you either." Draco let go of the cart. "But you could leave."

"Do you want me to?"

There was silence for several minutes, and Harry started to think that Draco had run. Then he heard him say, "As much as I hate to say it, no. Right now you're my best chance of finding a way to remove the Mark."

"Sometimes I find it hard to believe you're serious about this," Harry said dryly.

It was quiet again, their footsteps and the squeak of the cart the only noise other than nature. Harry supposed the conversation was over, and watched the landscape for any sign that they'd been seen. As they were approaching his intended destination, Draco said, "It's too late now to be anything but serious about it. I made a choice I can't run from this time."

"I guess that's true." Harry pushed the cart off the road and into a shaded glen. There was a small cottage a short distance away, hidden among the foliage.

"What is this place?" Draco murmured, looking up towards the tops of the trees.

Harry drew in a breath. "Godric's Hollow."

"That's..." he trailed off.

"Yeah," Harry answered. "But magic seems to linger here in an unusual way, and it may help to shield you, buy us some more time."

The cottage was a single-level with a root cellar that had caved in from the sides. Two bedrooms, a W.C. without a showerhead, and a small front room connected to the kitchen were all in various states of disarray. The only decoration was a framed, black and white photograph of the cottage itself and a row of dusty metal handbells along the mantle of the front room's fireplace. There was a broken mirror on the wall, shards of the glass littering the floor.

A few Cleaning Charms took care of the dirt and grime, and a Covering Charm gave the place the illusion of being brighter inside than it really was. "This isn't the place your parents had, is it?" Draco asked, and Harry thought he sounded a little uncomfortable.

"No. That house was completely destroyed."

Draco nodded, taking his things from the trunk. "How did you know there was shielding?"

"I came here before."

"Oh."

There was more to it, of course, but that was all Harry really wanted to tell Draco. He'd come here two years ago, when there had been word that Voldemort had sent a Death Eater out specifically to capture Harry. It had turned out that Voldemort hadn't been serious about trying to kill him again, but sending the Death Eater meant Harry would be distracted from the real attack Voldemort was staging at Gingott's.

That attack had failed, thanks to Bill Weasley and one of his co-workers, an Egyptian wizard named Fahim. And the Death Eater who'd been sent after Harry was now in Azkaban. He wasn't the first Dark Wizard Harry had put there.

  
**two** (past, hogwarts 7th year)

"Wicked!" Ron whispered, his mouth close to Harry's ear so they wouldn't be overheard. "It's like the... the You-Know-Who Resistance Headquarters around here anyway, and now they asked you to help!"

"They asked Hermione first," Harry whispered back. "And you can't tell anyone, okay?"

"I know." Ron looked positively glum for a moment. "You _are_ going to be able to make Quidditch practices, aren't you?"

"I think so."

"Wow. With all the witches and wizards that are here, Fudge will finally have to listen to Dumbledore!"

Harry motioned for him to be quiet. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Ron."

"As long as you don't miss practice. We have to _flatten_ Slytherin in the next match, and wipe that smirk off Malfoy's face." Ron's expression soured again as he mentioned the Slytherin captain. "Their new Seeker is awful, but it was still a wicked smart move on Malfoy's part to move himself to Keeper."

Snape was approaching, his eyes on them. "Mr. Potter."

"Yes, Professor?"

"The Council would like you to join them as soon as possible. Mr. Weasley, shouldn't you be in class?"

"I'm on my way," Ron muttered. "See you later, Harry."

"Later." Harry looked at Snape. "I'm going, I'm going."

He hurried to the Great Hall, where a dozen witches and wizards had assembled. Dumbledore and McGonagall were there, and he saw Hermione off to the side. "Ah, Harry!" Fudge cried as Harry entered the hall. "Just the person we were looking for. Take a seat."

Harry sat down next to a rather stern-looking witch who reminded him strongly of McGonagall. Dumbledore rose from his chair next to Fudge's. "Good afternoon. As many of you already know, we have brought together this committee to discuss the second rise of Lord Voldemort, which has so far been brushed aside by the Ministry as a series of unrelated incidents." A murmur ran through the group, and Fudge looked vaguely embarassed. "I know Minister Fudge means well, but these are not isolated incidents. The calling of the Mark at the Quidditch World Cup three years ago, the death of Amos Diggory's son at the Triwizard Tournament, the escape of several Death Eaters from Azkaban last summer, and the two recent attacks on Muggle-born wizards are _not_ unrelated. They signal one thing, and one thing alone, which some of you were smart enough to understand three years ago when Harry informed us that Voldemort was risen."

He looked at Harry for a moment. "I won't ask you to recount those events, as all of us here know precisely what they are. Now, I would like to introduce Mathilde Bau, she will be heading our Council."

The witch next to Harry stood up. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore."

Harry noticed that Hermione was furiously taking notes of the proceedings on a large scroll of parchment. Then he saw Snape slip in a side door, and fill the last empty seat around the table. "As all of you know, Hogwarts has been the site of more Dark activity in the past seven years than ever before," Bau was saying. Several people looked at Harry, and he felt himself flush. "To show Voldemort that we are not afraid, this council will be holding meetings here. This will also show strength to the student population. To emphasize community and cohesiveness within the school, our Head Girl will be assisting Professor Dumbledore and me." She nodded in Hermione's direction, and Harry saw Hermione's ears turn red.

"Minister Fudge will be establishing a War Office as part of the Ministry," Bau continued. One of the witches gasped. "Yes, you heard me correctly. This is a war, and we must treat it as such. We can not allow another period of history in which wizards must hide from their own kind. We must seek to stop those who would destroy us. My mother was a Muggle. Professor Sprout's grandfather was Muggle. Miss Granger's parents are Muggles. Tell me what this is if it is not a war."

No one said a word. Bau looked at Snape. "Severus?"

Snape stood and cleared his throat. He looked directly at Harry for a moment, then spoke. "I was once a Death Eater, almost twenty years ago, when the Dark Lord was at the height of his power. I know none of you will question me when I say how awful it truly was, to join with someone out of a misguided belief in pureblood superiority and find yourself told to kill or be killed."

  
**three** (present)

"Do you think there's life outside Earth?" Harry asked one evening as they sat in the front room of the cottage, surrounded by books in several languages.

"That's a stupid question, Potter," Draco grumbled.

"Oh, be open-minded for once. Think for yourself!"

Draco's eyes flashed. "I'm warning you - "

Harry was sick of it. "Warning me how? What the hell are you going to do to me, Malfoy?"

But Draco had no chance to answer, he'd begun to convulse on the sofa. The strange noise that Harry now associated with torture through the Mark rose from his throat, louder than ever before. Draco's hands scrambled, searching for something to grasp, and before he'd realized what he was doing, Harry had put himself in those hands, letting Draco squeeze his forearms as pain ripped through him.

The attack subsided quickly, leaving Draco panting, his hands still on Harry's arms. "Let me get you a glass of water," Harry said.

"No," Draco replied. "Just... just stand here for a minute."

After another few seconds, he dropped his hold on Harry and took a deep breath. "Was it worse than the last time?" Harry asked, concerned.

Draco nodded. Harry sat down. "Still not coming as regularily as I'd thought they would," Draco mused. "That was only the third one in three weeks. You must have been right about the magic of this place."

"It was a gamble," Harry admitted.

"Good gamble for once, Potter." Draco kicked one of the books irritably. "We're not getting anywhere with this, are we." It was more a statement than a question.

"I don't think so. I haven't found anything. You?"

"Obviously not."

"Hermione hasn't owled to say she's found anything either," Harry said, discouraged.

Draco looked Harry in the eye. "If there's no way to remove it, you can't let me go back."

"You'd rather St. Mungo's."

"What I'd rather, _Potter_, is that someone put me out of my misery before Voldemort gets the chance."

"What's the difference," Harry said sourly.

"The difference," Draco said calmly, clearly, "is that it's my choice who kills me. Fate versus free will. You remember that from that horrible Muggle philosophy class we were forced to take in sixth year."

"I enjoyed that class."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Can we stop speaking to each other for awhile?"

"Can't stand not having the last word, can you?"

"Shut up."

Harry smirked at him and picked up another book. It wouldn't hurt to keep looking while they were waiting on Hermione.

  
**four ** (present)

Two days later, he was so sick of Draco he couldn't stand it. "I don't know how I've put up with you for an entire month so far!" he shouted at Draco, who was lounging on the sofa, eating lunch, and pretending not to hear him.

Draco said nothing, and continued eating his sandwich.

"I'm leaving," Harry said, and that caused Draco to look up sharply. "I'm going to Cardiff and visiting Fred and George, and you're staying here."

"Alone?"

"I hired Peeves to babysit you," Harry snarled.

"Do fuck off," Draco spat.

"There's wards on the cottage, you dolt. No one except you or me can get in or out."

"I'm not _stupid_, Potter."

"I'll be back tomorrow," Harry said, and disapparated straight to Fred's flat in northern Cardiff.

"Harry!" Fred cried, abandoning whatever project he was working on at the table, and hugged Harry tightly. "Am I glad to see you. Ron's been going _bonkers_ not knowing where you've been and 'Mione won't tell him so of course he's ready to do something horrible to her..."

He continued to talk, and Harry felt his spirits lighten. Except his nose was crushed against Fred's shoulder. "Fred. Fred."

"Mmm?"

"Happy to see you as well, but I'm getting rather squished here."

"Oh, sorry!" Fred let go. "Had to make sure all your parts were there!" He winked at Harry, and Harry grinned. "So, where _have_ you been?"

"Important assignment for the Ministry," Harry said, and felt vaguely guilty, except he wasn't _really_ lying. Just not telling Fred what the assignment was.

"Oh. Well. Everyone's sure worried about you. Mum's hounding Ron because you haven't stopped over to the Burrow at all lately, and of course Ron's got no clue where you've gone to, and." Fred stopped, looked at him seriously. "Harry, it's not anything that could get you killed, is it?"

Harry looked at the man who'd been his first lover and was still one of his closest friends. "I honestly don't know."

"Well, are you going to tell me what it is?" Fred's eyes were wide, and he pulled Harry down on the couch. "I swear on Merlin's grave I won't tell a soul."

Harry sighed, leaned against Fred's comfortable form, and told him everything. It took almost an hour, and he finally finished with "he's driving me completely mad!"

Fred's mouth was hanging open. Harry reached up and pushed his jaw shut. "Bloody hell, Harry," Fred murmured.

"So I came here to see you and hopefully George, and have a pint at the pub, and get a decent night's sleep _away_ from Malfoy."

"You'll get no argument from me. The wards you put on the house at the Burrow haven't let so much as a illipede in. Even with Bill's kids leaving the doors open half the day as they run around screaming."

Harry laughed, for the first time in weeks. "How is everybody there?"

"As good as ever."

"That makes me glad." Harry hadn't realized how badly he'd needed to hear about something other than Voldemort and Death Eaters and killing. "The only people I'm in touch with are Hermione and Percy."

Fred snorted. "The Minister doesn't call him Weatherby, does she?"

"No. I wouldn't be surprised if she knew more about Percy than he knew about himself." Harry chuckled. "But I haven't heard from Percy or the Minister since Draco and I went into hiding, and the brief notes I get from Hermione, well."

"They're all business and no pleasure," Fred finished for him. "She's just trying to do her part to make sure nothing happens to you."

"I know."

"Speaking of business _plus_ pleasure, come look at what I'm working on." Fred grabbed Harry's hands and tugged him to the kitchen table. "Looks like an ordinary bunch of flowers, right? Pick it up and smell it."

Harry lifted the realistic-looking, realistic-feeling bouquet. As he raised it to his nose to sniff, the tulip tried to bite him with its soft petals. "Potter stinks!" it cried, and he dropped it.

"They don't all say that," Fred said hurriedly, placing the flowers back on the table. "The charm on them makes whatever they say personalized."

Harry shook his head, grinning. "Kids'll love that one, Fred."

With a pop, George apparated next to them and blinked for a moment. "Harry!?"

"In the flesh," Fred told him.

"All right, George?" Harry asked.

"Wonderful. Fred show you the Insulting Iris bunch?" George gestured excitedly to the table.

"Except it's a tulip," Fred cut in.

"But the iris does the insulting."

"Whatever does what," Harry said, laughing, "it's sure to be a hit at the shop."

They both beamed, and George clapped him on the shoulder. "Fancy a pint, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Please."

  
**five** (present)

Fred and George made sure Harry was pretty sloshed before they left the tavern, walking arm-in-arm with him back to Fred's flat. "Say, Harry, where've you been lately?" George asked as they meandered down the street.

"Important. Important Ministry business," Harry managed to reply. "Will tell you when it's all over."

George looked thoroughly confused, but he nodded. "All right."

He dropped Harry and Fred outside the flat, and left for his own place.

"I daresay you'll have a slice of a headache tomorrow," Fred said to Harry as they sat down heavily on the couch.

"No, I'll be fine. Just a touch dizzy right now."

Fred looked at him disbelievingly, but didn't say anything more about it. Instead, he changed the topic to the thing Harry wanted to discuss least of all. "Harry, what is there between you and Draco Malfoy?"

"Lot of animosity."

"He'd been alive for more than a month longer than he would have been without you around."

"'s my job, Fred." Harry laid his head on Fred's shoulder. "Just my job."

"I doubt the Ministry would do much if you did away with him and said he provoked you."

"Draco said almost the same thing to me." Harry closed his eyes. "Please, I don't want to talk about death. Just for one night, until this whole thing is over."

Fred's hand found his and squeezed. "All right. Come on. You need to sleep."

  
**six** (present)

Hermione was the first thing Harry saw when he apparated back to the cottage, but the first thing out of his mouth was, "Where's Draco?"

"Outside in the back," Hermione said. She sounded like she'd been crying, her eyes were red, and her hair was a mess. "Harry, I have something awful to tell you."

Every last trace of Harry's good mood evaporated. "It's not Ron, is it? Because I just left Fred's, and - "

"Dumbledore's been killed," Hermione wailed.

Harry froze. "_What? How?_"

"You.. You-Know... Voldemort! Who else would kill Dumbledore?"

"No, no, he couldn't have gotten into Hogwarts." Harry couldn't believe what Hermione was telling him.

"It didn't happen at Hogwarts," Hermione murmured. "It happened out in the street, this morning, in Hogsmede. Dumbledore had gone to buy some supplies alone, you know he won't allow any sort of Ministry protection, and when he exited the shop, there were four - four Death Eaters and You-Know-Who standing there. Dumbledore killed three of the Death Eaters, and managed to do something to You-Know-Who, something that caused him to lose a lot of blood, but." She stopped and swallowed. "The last Death Eater and You-Know-Who put Avada Kevadra on him together, and there's no way to stop that. Not how they did it."

Harry laid a hand on her arm. "Did they catch Voldemort?"

Hermione shook her head. "The Death Eater."

"Azkaban?"

"The Dementor's kiss, once the Ministry is done interrogating her."

Harry blinked. "Her? Who was it?"

"It..." Hermione lowered her voice even more. "Narcissa Malfoy, Harry. It was Draco's mother."

Harry slumped back against the sofa. "Bloody hell. Albus." He pressed his face against his drawn-up knees, feeling the tears well. Hermione was sobbing into a handkerchief. Harry let himself cry.

"Did you tell Draco about Dumbledore?" he asked quietly once the tears had stopped.

Hermione nodded.

"Narcissa?"

"Yes."

Harry stood up. "Give me a moment with him," he murmured, and went out the back. Draco was standing in the middle of the deep green lawn, staring up at the sky.

"You'll hurt your eyes, Malfoy," Harry called, walking toward him. Draco simply shrugged. "I'm not kidding."

"Quiet, Potter," Draco said. He sounded tired.

Harry laid a hand on his shoulder. Draco looked at him. "You feel betrayed," Harry said softly, simply.

"I feel like I should have stopped it," Draco replied, and coughed into his hand. There was blood on his fingers when he looked at them. "The Dark Lord's wounds seem to be affecting me," he said in wonder.

"Come into the house," Harry murmured.

Draco's breath hitched. "She should have known she wouldn't succeed."

Harry squeezed Draco's shoulder gently. "I understand if you're upset. She _was_ your mother."

"No." Draco straightened. "She was a Death Eater, first and foremost. I just didn't know until it was too late."

"I don't think anyone knew." Harry led him into the cottage.

Hermione was making a pot of tea. She avoided looking directly at Draco. "I have some information that may help in removing the Mark," she informed them. "But the incantation in question has never been tried, and there may be unforseen side effects."

Draco nodded. "Go on."

"It's a modified Goblin charm that does not use a wand, which might explain why you'd never run across it. It involves having the incantation painted directly on the skin of the afflicted."

"Painted in what?"

"Chimaera blood with Longhorn horn crushed into it. Mixed with a small amount of bat's milk."

Harry groaned. "Great, two things we'll never get."

"Don't speak so soon," Hermione chastised. "My brother-in-law has gotten ahold of the dragon horn for you, and the Ministry is in negotiations to bring a vial of Chimaera blood here from Greece."

"Who's your brother-in-law?" Draco asked.

"Charlie Weasley," Hermione replied, a slight flush creeping up her neck.

"You and the Weasel?"

Harry nudged Draco with his foot. "Bill. How long until the Chimaera blood arrives, Hermione?"

"With luck, less than a week."

"Does it matter who paints the incantation?" Draco asked, sipping his tea.

Hermione went over the the pile of parchment she'd brought with her. "It says here that it's got to be a certain person, I don't know that much ancient Goblin, so I can't translate this one part myself - someone who's... _legargh_?"

Harry and Draco stared at each other.

"What is it?" Hermione prompted.

"Potter," Draco said sulkily. "Potter has to do it."

Hermione looked rather bewildered, and Harry didn't blame her. "Are you positive about that?"

Draco nodded once. "_Legargh_", he said briskly to Hermione, "is someone who's 'worthy'. In mind, in soul, and in a certain kind of trust."

"What certain kind of trust?" Harry and Hermione asked simultaneously.

"You didn't say anything about the rest of the translation before," Harry continued.

"I'd prefer to tell Harry alone, Granger, if you don't mind." Draco's gaze didn't waver from Harry.

Hermione muttered something about the trees outside, and Harry spun to face Draco. "What kind of trust?"

"If you are _legargh_ to me, I trust you to kill me, to raise me from the dead, to - ." He paused, swallowed. "To fuck me, and to be fucked by me. Not that we have to do that," he added hurriedly, seeing the look on Harry's face. "No way, Potter."

Harry felt vaguely dizzy. "But you have to trust me enough for that."

"In the strictest sense of the translation, yes."

"But we don't have to... do that."

"No, thank Merlin. Just because I trust you with my body doesn't mean you're going to touch it. Men are fine, but. Not you."

Harry had to laugh, it was so absurd. "Don't worry, Malfoy. I wouldn't want to have sex with a ferret like you."

"So it's settled?" Draco asked, scorn edging his voice.

"Yes. As long as you're sure we don't actually have to fuck."

Draco grabbed the parchment Hermione had been reading from and skimmed it. "Doesn't appear to be one of the requirements."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll go and tell Hermione it's safe to come back inside."


	4. ire

**one** (present) 

"Explain this to me once more," Harry said to Hermione. 

"Most European and American wizards use spells with Latin or sometimes Greek roots," she said, setting aside the book she'd been pouring over. "_Lumis solem_, for one, comes from the latin 'lumen solare' - sunlight. But there are many other kinds of magic. Elves, fairies and goblins all have their own forms of magic that we humans don't normally use." 

"Yeah, I understand that, get to the stuff about the incantation." 

Hermione ignored him. "Humans don't normally use magic that doesn't involve a wand, the number one reason being that the magic we've been taught _requires_ a wand to focus the spell. But it all depends on how you focus your mind." 

She looked at the broken mirror, now off the wall and propped against the counter in the kitchen. "Try and fix it without your wand, Harry." 

The practicum was new, and Harry shrugged, looking at the mirror. "_Speculum reparo!_" 

It did nothing. Hemione was nodding. "All right," she said, "picture the mirror in your mind, whole like it was. Let it be the only thing you focus on, and when it is, try the spell again. _Know_ in your mind that it will work. Focus." 

Harry closed his eyes and pictured the mirror as it had been unbroken, the smooth silvery surface reflecting his image. "_Speculum reparo!_" 

There was a whooshing noise, and Harry opened his eyes. The mirror gleamed at him, whole again. A self-satisfying smile was on Hermione's face. "I told you it was all about focusing," she said smugly. 

"If it's that easy, why are we still using wands?" 

"Because it's not that easy for everyone. Neville Longbottom would never be able to do what you just did. It took me an entire week to learn it myself." 

"But you were always so much better than me at spells with a wand," Harry said in amazement. 

"Ah, but it's not about focusing magic through a wand, which is easy for me. It's about focusing magic through _yourself_, and you always outranked me on the self-confidence scale." 

Harry frowned at her. "I still can't believe the secret to wandless magic is that simple." 

"Trust me when I tell you the things that seem complicated are often the simplest," Hermione said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

"Voldemort doesn't know, does he?" 

"Not as far as the Ministry knows. If he did, I daresay he'd be causing a lot more destruction than he currently is. Not that it's not a lot. Now, the incantation." She held a sheet of old parchment toward him. "It doesn't have the Latin roots that our magic does, which is why Malfoy never found it in his search. It's a combination of Goblin and Celtic magic, which is honestly the strangest combination I've ever seen. And I saw some odd things when I spent those six months after graduation in South America." 

Harry looked at the parchment. "Most of it's _in_ Gobbledygook," he said, "and that makes sense to me, as Goblin magic has a lot to do with keys and locks and separating one thing from another. But I'm still not making the Celtic connection." 

"It's the symbol you must draw at the top of Draco's back." Hermione pointed at the sketch on the paper. "The triune, the three-pointed knot. Each point symbolizes a separate place - one, the arena where the human soul must perfect itself. Two, the arena where the life spark triumphs over evil. And three, the arena that holds the power of creation. It' s the second part that holds the most meaning with this incantation. Draco has to "unlock" himself from You-Know-Who and therefore triumph over him." 

"That's not much of a connection," Harry muttered. 

"I never said it was," Hermione countered, "or that this was guaranteed to work. But you and Draco have to believe in it, or there's no chance. " 

Harry stared at the intricate knot. "I can't draw that freehand, Herm." 

"There's a simple spell that will transfer the basic lines onto Draco's skin. You only have to paint over them while I read it aloud, but you can only use it for the knot, the two lines that will circle Draco's hips, and the line that will circle his arm where the Mark is. The rest you have to write yourself." 

"The Goblin's no trouble," Harry said firmly.

**two** (present) 

The Chimaera blood and Longhorn powder arrived six days later, as Harry was watching Draco writhe in pain from the Mark. "Finally," he snapped at Percy, who stared. "Give it to Hermione." 

Percy pressed the ingredients into Hermione's hands. Harry looked down at Draco, who was gasping for air, clutching at Harry's arms. His eyes were squeezed shut. Harry doubted he'd even realized Percy was there. "And stop staring at Malfoy." 

"What's wrong with him?" 

"It's the fucking Mark," Draco panted, trying to focus his eyes on Percy. 

"This is why we needed those ingredients," Harry continued. 

"Are we doing this now?" Hermione asked from the kitchen. 

"Yes!" Harry and Draco said together. 

Hermione looked at Percy. "Go home." 

**three** (present) 

The robe dropped from Draco's shoulders as he knelt down. "I swear, Granger, if you even try to look at me - " 

"Not in a million years, Malfoy," Hermione said from her spot behind Harry. "Don't worry your empty little head about it." 

Draco sneered, and Harry sighed. "Can we just get on with it?" 

Hermione handed him the parchment with the drawing of the knot. "Point your wand at it, say _attollere_, and tap where it should go on Draco's back." 

"_Attollere!_" Harry commanded, and the lines of the knot lifted from the paper and settled across the top of Draco's back. Draco shivered. "That didn't hurt, did it?" Harry asked. 

"No. Keep going." 

Harry repeated with the process for the next lines of text, and they wrapped themselves twice around Draco's hips like a belt. He did the last allowable line, the one that crossed the Mark. It darkened as he did so, and his scar burned briefly as well. "Ready, Draco?" 

"Yes." 

Harry handed the parchment back to Hermione. "Slow enough so I can write it, as clear as you can." 

She nodded. "His waist first, then." She held out the jar of the chimaera bloodpaint. It glittered with Longhorn flecks, and Harry's scar hurt even more when he took it. 

"Hurry," Draco whispered, "he knows what's coming, I don't know how, but he knows." 

"Just stay as still as you can." Harry lifted the unicorn hair brush. "Start, Hermione." 

"_Parfois haber palavras keine razao,_" she read in a slow firm voice as Harry traced the symbols in time with her words, moving around Draco's body on his knees. "_Parfois sons da verdade como mentiras. Parfois le vie croit non siamo significate per morire._" 

The words glowed briefly, then faded. Harry rubbed his scar with his free hand. "All right?" he asked Draco. 

"Hot. Keep going." 

"The freehand lines down his shoulders," Harry told Hermione, moving to Draco's side. 

"_Utsu semi wa, moto ne hadaka ni, modorikeri._" 

He moved to the other side. "And again." 

She read it again, and Harry realized as he painted that Draco was trembling, so fast that it was almost like he was vibrating. "Draco?" 

"I'm fine, Potter." 

Harry could see he wasn't, but chose not to push. The bloodpaint continued to glow, and he moved so that he and Draco were face to face. "The line across the chest, please, Hermione." 

"_Veeyn sof lalavnunit velazohar eyn kets,_" Hermione read, and Harry's brush moved carefully across Draco's upper chest. The words covered the width of his torso, shoulder to shoulder. 

Harry took Draco's wrist in his free hand. "Are you ready for this one?" he murmured, soft so Hermione couldn't hear. "I've no doubt it will be the worst." 

Draco nodded. Harry looked up and met Hermione's eyes after wetting the brush again. "The arm." 

"_Vesilahru lahofsi al-pney yamey haora,_" she read clearly. 

Draco gasped as the paint covered the Mark and his arm jerked involuntarily, but Harry had such a firm grip that the paint did not smear. He looked into Draco's eyes, clouded with pain. "It's almost over," he whispered. "One more." 

Draco nodded, breathing heavily. Harry moved behind him again. "Go, Hermione." 

"_Veritaugh,_" she read. "_Fideraugh. Libertaugh._" 

Harry's scar was burning so badly his eyes were watering, but he forced himself to keep a steady hand as he traced the Celtic knot above the words. As the end connected with the beginning, there was a roaring noise and wind blew all around Draco. The lettering glowed brightly. 

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, holding out the knife for him to take. 

The single drop of blood fell from his finger onto Draco's shoulder, and Harry thought he heard someone scream before everything went white.

**four** (present) 

/The Mark, is it gone?/ 

/It's gone, it's gone./ 

**five** (present) 

Hermione was standing over him with a cup of coffee in her hand. She pressed it into his. "Drink this." 

"Couldn't give me chocolate like Madame Pomfrey would have?" Harry rasped. His mouth felt like it had been scraped raw, his head like he'd drunk half a barrel of mead, his muscles like he'd run from King's Cross to Hogsmede in the hottest summer weather. 

/We don't have any chocolate/, a voice - Draco's voice - said, but not outloud. Harry gasped. It... it was like Draco had spoken directly _in_ Harry's head. But he wasn't looking at Harry, his eyes were closed as he leaned against the sofa. 

/You can hear me?/ Harry thought. 

/Yes. Everything. If I concentrate./ Draco's eyes opened and stared into Harry's. 

"Harry?" Hermione was saying. "Harry, what is it?" 

Draco didn't break eye contact as he said, "It seems Potter and I can read each other's minds." 

Hermione spilled her own coffee in shock. "You _can't_ be serious." 

"Go on, Potter, tell her what I'm thinking," Draco prompted. 

Harry swallowed. "Your hair, Hermione. Malfoy thinks it looks like a rat's nest." 

"That's supposed to convince me?" she cried. "Even if it isn't something you'd say, Harry, and it wouldn't be like you to try and pull some sort of trick with Malfoy, telepathy is rare." 

"It's a side effect of the spell, it has to be. What kind of magic _was_ that, Hermione?" Harry asked, and saw Draco's lips move along with his words. 

Hermione was in a fit of panic now. "This wasn't supposed to happen - " 

"Of course it wasn't supposed to happen, Granger," Draco snarled, standing up. "Just one of your unknown side effects, isn't it?" 

Hermione simply gaped at him. "Draco, I..." 

"Find some way to fix it," Harry and Draco shouted together. Harry glared at Draco. "I just _knew_ I couldn't get away from you for yet _another_ month." 

/But I'm just so overjoyed about this,/ Draco's voice drawled in his head, and Harry summoned all his strength to punch him in the face. Draco reeled backwards, his hands over his mouth, and Harry felt slightly better. 

Then he felt something warm and wet trickling down his chin. "Harry," Hermione said in wonder, "you're bleeding." 

"Fucking hell," Harry breathed, touching his lips. His fingertips came away stained scarlet. Draco's lips were bleeding as well. They stared at each other. /Fucking hell,/ Harry thought, and saw Draco nod his slow agreement. "_Hermione_." 

"It's not my fault!" she cried, and Harry saw just how pale and shaken she was. "This wasn't supposed to happen, I know I translated the accompanying text correctly. Harry, you've got to trust me!" 

Harry had trusted Hermione many times before, several with his life, and she'd come through every time. "I do trust you." 

"Then let me go back to the Ministry and see what I can find." 

Harry nodded. "Hurry." 

When Hermione was gone, Harry looked at Draco. He was still wearing only the loose robe, the incantation still spelled out across his pale skin in gleaming red-gold. There was blood in his hair and on his lips. 

"I can't wash it off," Draco said, preempting Harry's question. "It has to fade by itself." He held out his arm. Where the Mark had been, there was now unblemished skin. "Gone. And your scar has stopped hurting as well, hasn't it." 

"Yeah." 

There really wasn't much else for them to say. They really didn't need to say anything at all, not anymore. Harry took his mug into the kitchen.

**six** (past, Hogwarts 7th year) 

"What d'you mean the match is cancelled?" Ron asked, his face a mess of worry. The tips of his ears were as red as his hair and the Quiddith robes he wore. "Professor, we _have_ to finish!" 

"Not today," Snape said curtly. "Potter, come with me. You too, Miss Granger." 

Harry gave Ron a helpless look and followed Snape as he hurried back towards the castle. 

"What do you think this is about?" Hermione whispered in his ear. 

"I don't know, Hermione." 

"D'you think it's You-Know-Who?" 

"I think people would be screaming if it was," Harry replied, but he wasn't sure. "My scar's not hurting still, at least." 

"I suppose that's good." She clutched her books tighter. There was faint shouting behind them, and they both looked over their shoulders. Ron and Draco were near screaming at each other. "Oh dear," Hermione murmured. 

"Don't gawk, children," Snape snapped. He'd turned to look as well, his hand over his forearm. 

Harry glared at him. At seventeen they were hardly children, and he was as tall as Snape. "Are you going to tell us what this is about?" 

"It will be explained." Snape was striding away, and they hurried to catch up. 

Mathilde Bau was alone in the Great Hall, seated in Dumbledore's normal chair at the head table. She beckoned to Harry and Hermione, and Snape took a seat at the far end of the Slytherin table. "Professor Dumbledore has received an urgent owl from Minister Fudge," she said to them. "No doubt this will be the headline in tomorrow's Daily Prophet. Four Muggles were murdered last night, apparently when they entered a house they believed to be abandoned." 

"Voldemort," Harry breathed. 

"Yes." 

Harry looked over at Hermione. "I woke up last night with my scar hurting." 

"Well, it does seem to hurt when You-Know-Who is doing something horrible, Harry," she said to him, and looked back at Bau. "Is there a particular reason why you're letting the two of us know before everyone else finds out?" 

Bau nodded. "Firstly, Hermione, I will be needing you to teach the first and second-year Potions classes tomorrow." 

Hermione, who looked a cross between bewildered and flattered, nodded quickly. "Of course." 

"You cancelled the Quidditch match so you could ask Hermione to teach Potions?" Harry was completely confused. "That doesn't make sense." 

"I was getting to that, Mr. Potter." 

"Sorry," Harry muttered. 

"The Quidditch match was, quite frankly, cancelled for safety reasons - " 

"You don't think Voldemort will be coming _here_, do you?" Hermione interrrupted. 

"No. But we need all students inside and accounted for." 

"_Why?_" 

"Because tonight," Snape said loudly from the back of the hall, his voice echoing, "is traditionally the night that the Dark Lord calls new Death Eaters to be given the Mark." 

"You think there will be students..." Hermione's voice was edged with fear as she looked between Bau and Snape. 

"We don't know," Bau said briskly. "It's possible. There are students here who have relations among You-Know-Who's ranks." 

"Malfoy," Harry muttered. 

"You don't know that for sure," Bau replied calmly. "I wouldn't go accusing anyone of anything yet, Mr. Potter." 

Hermione stared at her. "Draco Malfoy has always made his wish to be a Death Eater quite clear to any student who would listen!" 

"That doesn't mean he will be one. _However_, there will be a count of students several times during the night. Harry, I'm going to ask you to help with that." 

"Of course," Harry said absently, his mind on Malfoy. "Who's going to be watching Slytherin House, if Professor Snape will be gone?" 

"Professors McGonagall and Vector. You and Hermione will be in charge of Gryffindor. Students will take dinner in the common rooms. No one is allowed to leave until tomorrow morning." 

"Starting when?" 

"Right now. You're both dismissed, go." 

Harry and Hermione looked at each other for a moment, then hurried toward the Gryffindor dormitory.

**seven** (past, Hogwarts 7th year) 

When they entered the Great Hall the next morning, Draco Malfoy was standing near the head table conversing with McGonagall. Harry could see that McGonagall's eyes were red and teary. Draco, on the other hand, was as calm and collected as ever. As they neared the head of the Gryffindor table, Harry could hear him saying "...she's fine now, but it was a close call, my mother's not a strong woman, Professor..." 

As Harry watched, McGonagall gestured to Draco's arm. With a flourish, he pushed up the sleeve of his robe. Harry gasped as his scar flared, but the skin he could see there was as pale and unblemished as it had ever been. "Ron, he did it," he whispered to Ron next to him as Draco smirked and McGonagall and headed for the Slytherin table. "Voldemort gave him the Dark Mark last night, I know it." 

"Are you sure, Harry?" Hermione asked worriedly. 

"My scar started to hurt when Malfoy showed Professor McGonagall his arm." 

"But you said your scar hurt most of last night, it might just be that still." 

Harry shook his head, watching Malfoy whisper to Crabbe and Goyle. "No, Hermione, I'm sure of it." 

McGonagall was tapping her glass and they all turned toward her, a hush falling over the crowded room. "I'm afraid I have some very upsetting news," she said quietly. "I am sorry to have to inform you like this. I am sorry I have to tell you this at all. Professor Snape will not be returning to Hogwarts." 

A murmur ran through the crowd. "Why not?" Hermione cried, her eyes fixed on McGonagall's pale face. 

"Professor Snape was killed last night." McGonagall paused and swallowed. "By Lord Voldemort." 

Several students screamed in shock, and Harry could see a few of the Slytherin first years crying. "Professor Snape," McGonagall continued, her voice shaking, "died saving all of us. At least for now. He made the choice to end his life instead of giving Lord Voldemort the information he was seeking. Information on how to get into Hogwarts." She took a deep breath. "You might be tempted to remember Snape as only your teacher, only as Hogwarts' Potions Master. But he served against You-Know-Who, willingly and loyally, for years. Don't remember him as only the man who taught you a Shrinking Potion or Truth Serum. At the very least, please remember him as the hero he is." McGonagall raised her goblet. "To Severus Snape." 

"Severus Snape," they echoed solemnly, hundreds of voices as one.

**eight** (present) 

"Do you remember," Harry began, 

and Draco answered, "Yes."

**nine** (present) 

Alone, he could see things that he knew weren't from his own mind. Images of Voldemort, of Lucius, of Narcissa. Crabbe and Goyle, dying. People Harry had never seen before, writhing in pain. /Draco, _stop_./ 

/I can't stop it. It's what I see when I close my eyes./ 

"Then don't close your eyes," Harry whispered to the empty room.

**ten** (present) 

He could feel when Draco fell asleep, the stream of images he was just starting to learn to ignore began to slow, and then stopped completely. 

Harry tried consciously to blank his mind and relax, further and further until there was simply silence.

**eleven** (present) 

The room was a mass of colors swirling together when Harry opened his eyes, and for a moment he thought he was still asleep. Then the colors congealed themselves into the forms of the Minister, Percy, Hermione, and to Harry's surprise, Fred. 

/I didn't want to know that, Potter,/ came Draco's mind-voice. /Disgusting./ 

Harry grimaced. /What I wouldn't give to be able to beat you to a pulp./ 

"Unfortunately for you, that's impossible now," Draco replied, smirking as he entered the room. 

Harry saw Fred's eyes narrow in Draco's direction. "Why are you all here?" he asked loudly, hoping to stop that fight before it started. 

Bau stepped forward slightly, and laid her hand on the end of his bed. "To get this all straightened out," she said sharply. "I'm sure there's something that will reverse the spell." 

"Put the Mark back?" Draco asked, his eyes wide. "No. I _refuse_." 

"I don't know, Mr. Malfoy. I hope that we can find something that will terminate this strange psychic connection you and Harry are sharing." 

Hermione was clutching several books and rolls of parchment. "This is everything the Ministry library had on telepathy," she said quietly. "There's no mention of it in conjunction with the incantation you performed." 

"What about as a side-effect of two people casting a spell together?" 

/Stop reading my mind,/ Harry thought, glaring at Draco. 

Draco smirked at him. /You can't stop me./ 

Harry felt the very strong urge to hide beneath the bedcovers, but it wouldn't do any good. "Fred? Why're you here?" 

Fred turned almost as red as his hair, and Harry could tell he was trying to ignore the fact that there were other people there, especially Malfoy. "I thought you might need someone," he said in a low voice, "to be there for you." 

"Isn't that _sweet_," Draco sneered. 

"Shut up, for once," Percy snapped at Draco, the first thing he'd said since Harry had woken up. "Your constant sniping isn't helping any, and I'm sure Harry's sick of it, and you." 

Harry stared at Percy in amazement. "Uhm, thanks Perce," he mumbled. 

/Bastard,/ he could hear Draco thinking. /Telling me what to do, bloody Weasley in his shabby - / 

/DRACO!/ 

Draco looked at him. 

/We'll never get anything done if you don't shut your fucking mouth. So save it. Be glad Fred hasn't turned you into a canary. Yet./ 

"What happens if I die while Potter and I can still read each other's minds?" Draco asked suddenly, his gaze focused on Hermione. 

"According to these texts, nothing." 

"Well, that's a step in the right direction," Harry muttered.

**twelve** (present) 

/I have to leave,/ Draco said to him one evening as they sat eating dinner in silence, alone together in the same room for the first time in days. 

/And go where, exactly?/ 

/To kill him./ 

"You think you can do that _alone_?" Harry cried aloud. 

"Harry," Draco said calmly, more patiently than Harry had ever heard him speak before. "You do realize that no one's managed to kill him because they've never gotten him alone, and because they haven't had enough strength." 

"And you do?" 

/With your help, yes./ 

Harry's eyebrows lifted. 

"This link seems not only to provide us with a window to the other's thoughts, but also to actions. And there seems to be a degree of manipulation there as well." 

"Much to my dismay," Harry muttered. 

"Shut up and watch." Draco closed his eyes. Harry felt something pulling on his hand, except there wasn't anything there to pull his hand with. He tried to counter it, but his hand shot across the table until his fingerips were touching Draco's chest, and he was halfway out of the chair. 

/You see?/ Amusement flashed in Draco's eyes, close to Harry's. "And you could do the same to me if you tried." 

Harry sat back down, feeling vaguely unsettled by the idea that he could fight the Imperius curse, but not this connection. "This has _what_ to do with Voldemort?" 

"If we both focus our magic toward him, whatever spell we cast should be double the strength of one of us casting it alone. It worked for Voldemort and my mother, it should work for us." 

He had a point, Harry had to admit. "Even without me there, without a wand? What about if you don't have a wand?" 

"Let's try it." Draco slid his glass of water into the center of the table and fixed his eyes on it. "The chilling spell, all right?" 

Harry nodded. He heard Draco counting backwards in his head. Then "_Intepescere!_" together, Draco aloud, Harry via the link. 

The glass exploded, water made ice with such quickness and force that the pressure was too much for the vessel to hold. 

"Damn," Harry breathed. 

/Exactly./ 

**thirteen** (present) 

Draco left the next day without saying where exactly it was he was headed. He'd left Harry with a slightly anxious Fred Weasley, who'd shown up and refused to leave so long as Harry and Draco were connected. Hermione was at Hogwarts, using their library to look up information on what she'd termed 'selective post-traumatic telepathy'. Harry didn't care what she called it as long as there was some way to reverse what had happened. 

/All right, Draco?/ 

/I'm fine, will you stop asking and leave me alone for once?/ 

/Well, you won't fucking tell me where you are!/ 

/Shut _up_! And don't ponder so loudly./ 

Harry concentrated on breaking ice cubes with his mind. 

"Harry," Fred said, across the table. The chessboard sat between them. "Harry." 

"Hmm?" The ice in Harry's glass made a cracking noise. 

"You're not talking." 

"Sorry." Harry cleared his throat. "It's just - I start thinking that everyone can hear my thoughts." 

Fred nodded. "Understandable, quite." 

Harry looked down at his hands. "I'm actually _worried_ about him." 

"I'm not surprised. You've spent the last month and a half in each other's constant company, and then 'constant company' kind of took on a whole new meaning when the whole mind-reading deal started." 

"Don't be a smartass," Harry grumbled. "I hate him." 

"You don't," Fred said smugly, folding his arms over his chest and tipping his chair back. "You might think he's a humongous bighead, but you don't hate him." 

Harry looked at him crossly. "Don't play psychiatrist and start telling me what I feel." 

Fred snorted. "Please. I'll buy you a pensieve if you ever think you need to start telling someone your thoughts on a weekly basis. You can just owl me a Galleon each time you use it." 

As annoying as an anxious Fred was, Harry was glad he had someone around. He wished Ron could be there, to play Wizards' chess and keep Harry's mind off what was to come, but Ron was still unaware of what was going on. According to Hermione, he asked her at least twice a day what the big secret was, but Hermione had always managed to talk her way out of telling him. 

"What?" he asked Fred, who was staring at him. 

"It's your move."

**fourteen** (present) 

_We_, as in more than one, together. 

_Ours_, as in something owned, together. 

Harry hated Draco. 

_Please tell me that once this connection is severed, you'll release me from this assignment,_ he wrote to Mathilde. _I can't live with him any longer. Being in his mind, and having him in mine, is like years of forced companionship, only he's not my friend, and I don't want to be his._

_It's not over until it's over,_ was her response. 


	5. noscere

**one** (present) 

Malfoy

Malfoy

Malfoy manor of course no one was surprised there Harry's scar burning indicator Voldemort somewhere close inside Draco 

_Petrificus Totalis!_

one down, stupid of him to have only one guard, Draco's footsteps /our/ footsteps echoing in the hall echoes of children and FatherMother and children running 

_Alohamora!_

(more)

_Reseratis Foribus!_

Locked

Locked

Unlocked

easier than it should have been, stairs now stone steps _I never want to come back here again, _ Draco thinks and the banister is smooth and cold 

hallway again scar burning more now will my head explode? steps steps footsteps 

door

library

should be (_reseratis foribus_) locked but it's not 

knew knew knew you'd be coming Draco, quite amusing really, Potter sending you /us/ to your /our/ death you should have known it's always been 

**destiny**

\- that you /we/ should die here at my hand, came here to me like I knew you would, came running to your /our/ death 

doesn't he realize the Mark is gone /maybe it's your scar, Harry/ - 

_Crucio!_

pain pain knives needles slivers skin pain STOP! 

aching, throbbing, you stupid boy, didn't even bring your wand not that it would change anything, always so stupid thought you were running things like your father stupud, childish of you /both/ when it was I who was in charge, I who controlled - 

/NOW!/ 

focus breath focus

_Avada Kevadra!_

focus breath focus

light light screaming light green like Lily's screaming silence silence silen - 

Aurors now, Aurors there quick, quick, carry /you/ Draco /me/ down /us/ and out the back and the banister is smooth and cold and it's.

Done.

**two** (present) 

Silence now, _vesilahru lahofsi al-pney yamey haora._

**three** (present) 

It was quiet in Harry's mind. There were no uninvited flashes of death, no unwanted snippets of childhood memory. Just his own thoughts. 

On unsteady legs, he ran out the front door. Through the trees came the Minister and two Aurors, one of them carrying an unconscious Draco. "Is he all right?" Harry asked. 

"Just passed out," the Auror said. "He just needs to rest." 

Harry nodded, and showed the man to Draco's room. The Minister laid her hand on his shoulder for a brief moment. "The Order of Merlin, I think, for you both," she said softly, and she sounded like Dumbledore. She and the Aurors Disapparated. Harry looked at the pale form on the bed. 

/Draco./ 

Draco's eyelids didn't even flicker. 

_Maybe it's gone?_ Harry thought. /Draco./ "Draco!" 

Tiredly. "What _now_, Potter?" 

"It's gone." 

"I know." 

"And Voldemort is dead." 

"Yes. Bau saw him with her own eyes. So did the Aurors. They'll take care of what's left of the body." 

"So we can leave this place." 

Draco nodded, his eyes drifting shut. "I'd like to sleep now, if you don't mind." 

Harry stood watching him for a long time, trying to get used to the silence in his head. Outside, the leaves rustled loudly. The last of the clouds blew away from in front of the moon. And faintly, in the distance, there were fireworks.

**four** (past, hogwarts 6th year) 

The bludger had knocked the wind out of Draco so hard that he couldn't draw proper breath, and by the time he'd carried Draco to Madam Pomfrey, Harry could barely breathe himself. 

"Looks like he's broken a rib," Madam Pomfrey said, turning from Draco's bedside in the hospital wing. "Quidditch again, I imagine?" 

"Yes," Harry answered. "It hit him right in the stomach, harder than I've ever seen a bludger hit someone." 

"Oh, that's not the worst damage I've ever seen done by that bloody ball," she replied. "I suppose Oliver Wood told you about the week he spent unconscious due to one of those blasted things." 

"Right before my first game," Harry said, remembering. 

"Well, Mr. Malfoy will be fine in a few hours, I'm sure he's thankful to you for bringing him up here." 

"Wouldn't be so sure of that," Harry said under his breath. "Thanks, Madam." 

She eyed him critically. "You're not hurt as well, are you?" 

"No." 

"Good. Go on then, it's nearly dinner." 

The rest of the summer students were already assembled in the Great Hall, sitting around the single large table. "Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said as he approached. "I take it Mr. Malfoy will suffer no lasting damage." 

Harry wasn't surprised that Dumbledore already knew what had happened. "Madame Pomfrey says he'll be fine in a few hours," he said in reply. He took the last empty chair, right next to Dumbledore's. 

"Maybe I'll have a look at the charms on those bludgers," Madame Hooch mused. "They certainly seem to hit with more force than they did when we first got them." 

"Nonsense," Dumbledore exclaimed, and reminded her of Wood's coma and several of the Weasley brothers' messier broken bones. "If anything they've stopped being quite so vicious," he added, winking at Harry. He leaned over to speak in Harry's ear. "Kind of you to do that for Mr. Malfoy." 

"I wasn't going to leave him out there," Harry replied with a feeling of unease. "Even if he is an... an opinionated loudmouth," he finished, having struggled to come up with something that wasn't too rude for the headmaster's ears. 

"Perhaps you should give Draco another chance," Dumbledore said quietly. "I think the two of you have more in common than you realize right now." 

Harry wasn't so sure of that, but he wasn't going to argue with Dumbledore, especially not in front of the group assembled. Colin Creevy handed him the bowl of potatoes. "Hey Harry, up for a game of chess after dessert?" 

"Sounds great!" Maybe it would get the image of Draco being hit with the bludger out of his head. "Winner has to play Dennis," he added, and Colin groaned.

**five** (present) 

"_Rhoi Aifft ar dn,_" said a voice to Harry's left, and he turned. An old woman stood there, dressed in shabby threadbare robes, a basket on her arm. 

"What would you have me do?" Harry asked her. 

"I was watching, child," the hag continued in Welsh, a knowing look in her eyes. "Watching you, yes." 

"_A oeddech chwi?_" Harry replied, wondering if it was really a good idea to humour her, and glancing in Draco's direction for a brief moment before he realized what he was doing. 

"I was. And so showing, his attention towards you! And yours toward him." 

Harry focused his attention on _her_. "_Ymesgusodi?_" 

She grinned at him, showing her rotten teeth, and Harry was strongly reminded of the hag in Knockturn alley years before. "_Yr achlod i ti!_" she exclaimed, thumping him on the arm. "Stupid, you are, for not seeing." 

"And just what was it you saw?" 

"Blindness", she said firmly. "_Gwelais rwbeth yno nad bth yn angof gennf yn anad dim._" She hit him again. "_Chwilio am lwbr allan oích adwth!_" She hurried off, Harry staring after her. 

"What was that all about, Potter?" Draco asked, drawing out his words. 

"Nothing," Harry muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Crazy woman, really. Let's just go." 

"What was she chastising you for?" Draco persisted. 

Harry spun to face him. "I am _sick_ and _tired_ of people telling me that there's things I can't see, things that supposedly have something to do with you and me, all right? That's what she was yelling at me for." 

"I still don't understand what possible misfortune you could have to atone for." 

"You, maybe?" Harry muttered. _I am so glad the mind-reading thing is over and done with._

Draco's eyes flashed. "Was it really all that bad?" He paused. "We did kill Voldemort." 

"Since when do you get to be the one asking that question?" Harry started walking again. 

"You've seen inside my head. You know all there is to know." Draco sounded tired, bitter. Defeated. Worn raw, and lost. 

Alone. 

Harry stopped again, turned, and looked Draco straight in the eye. "I never thought I'd hear you use that tone of voice. Even in your memories of death you never used it." 

"Maybe I'm sick of this." 

"Sick of what?" 

"Of you being a bloody fool!" Draco said heatedly, shouting right there in the middle of the road, and suddenly it was raining. "Grow up, Potter, open your eyes." Drops of water began to run down his face, Harry felt them on his own. "Don't you _realize_ we're no longer two separate people?" 

Harry felt like he was experiencing some strange deja vu, like he was in one of the old novels Aunt Petunia used to read. The ones where the hero and heroine would hate each other through the first two-thirds of the book only to discover through some sort of peril that they really did love each other, usually in a rainstorm or hailstorm or even a tornado. 

Except this was no fucking bodice-ripper, this was him and Draco screaming at each other on the dirt road leading away from Godric's Hollow. 

"No fucking way," was what he said. "I have spent two months with you; eating, breathing, sleeping, reading, thinking all with you never more than ten feet away." 

"And?" 

"And it might be weird without you around for awhile, but I'm sure I'll get used to it." 

"You still haven't gotten used to the fact that you can't hear my thoughts," Draco said quietly. 

"What would you know about that?" 

"Plenty, you ass! I could hear yours too, you know. But all we ever talked about was what was in _my_ mind, and you just wanted to ignore the fact that you have just as many demons as I do!" 

Draco shoved him, angrily. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen Malfoy so upset. He was usually the one who resorted to physical violence - until now, Draco had preferred to use insults. 

"Go home," Harry hissed at him. 

"_I don't have one!_" 

"So that automatically makes your home wherever I am? I don't fucking think so, Malfoy." 

"Stop and think about it for a minute," Draco said over the sound of the rain. "Think about it, Harry. Think about what was in your mind when you looked at me after we'd woken up after the incantation, after Hermione left. Think about the things Weasley told you, what that witch just told you." 

"No," Harry snapped. 

Draco's eyes closed. Then without opening them, he lifted a hand and placed it on Harry's chest. "_Feel_ for once in your fucking life, Potter." 

Harry swallowed. Warmth from Draco's hand seeped through his wet shirt into his skin, warmth and - something else. Something that vibrated, just a little, slid through his bones. 

**six** (past) 

_Draco's skin was impossibly smooth under the red-gold symbols, pure and pale like untouched snow where the paint had not anointed it. In the trance, Harry reached out to touch, but hands caught his. "You'll smear it," a voice said, he didn't know whose. Draco's lips weren't moving. "Wait. Wait for later."_

**seven** (present) 

"That couldn't have really happened," he murmured. "Hermione would have told me had I done something so foolish." 

"It happened, and she didn't." Draco's hand was still on his chest, and it fisted in Harry's shirt and pulled him forward, roughly. 

"You think _now_ is later?" Harry asked, his face inches from Draco's. 

"I'm thinking your mouth is pretty damn fuckable," Draco breathed. "We've been through hell together, Potter, if you think I'm going to just turn tail and run from this - " 

"_Legargh_," Harry whispered. 

"What?" 

"_Legargh_. Draco, this has to be another side effect of the incantation." 

"It's no side effect. It just _happened_!" 

"But it wouldn't have happened had we not done what we did." 

"True, possibly." Draco's face was still close; closer, in fact. "But you were _legargh_ to me before we knew the incantation existed. As much as I hated it, as much as I do hate it, if you walk away now something's being broken." 

"What, your heart?" Harry snarled. 

"Yours," Draco said simply, and his lips touched Harry's for a brief slick moment as the rain kept falling.

**eight** (present) 

_We_, as in more than one, together. 

_Ours_, as in something owned, together. 

Harry hated Draco. But his skin was just as smooth as Harry had secretly imagined, and he tasted cool and clear like spring water but with fire underneath, and his body moved like a hot knife through butter. The bed in their room at the Swish &amp; Flick was small and creaky, and Harry found he trusted Draco enough to fuck him, and be fucked by him, as the bedsprings groaned and their feet dangled off the side. 

"How much family honor did you destroy with that," Harry panted in the dying sunlight, and Draco grinned slyly. 

"The last of it, I suppose. Tell me, Potter, how would you feel if you were twenty-three and you'd just lain next to the one person you'd always considered an enemy and told them you'd finally understood what it meant when lovers said they were two halves of a whole." 

Harry turned his head and touched the place on Draco's arm where the Mark had been. "I suppose I'd feel exactly as I do right now."

  



	6. Notes and Translations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are the notes and translations for Haeddu. (There were too many of them to put them as actual notes.)

**translations:**

> Main title:
> 
> **Haeddu** = deserve (Welsh)
> 
> Section titles (old Latin names of the five powers of the Magus):
> 
> **tacere** = silence  
> **velle** = will  
> **audere** = dare  
> **ire** = evolve  
> **noscere** = know
> 
> Goblin incantation:
> 
> (lines around Draco's hips)  
> **Parfois haber palavras keine razao/ parfois sons da verdade como mentiras/ parfois le vie croit non siamo significate per morire.** (French, Italian, Portuguese.)  
> Sometimes words have no meaning/ sometimes truth sounds like lies/ sometimes life is believing we are not meant to die.
> 
> (line around Draco's forearm where the Mark is)  
> **Vesilahnu lahofsi al-pney yamey haora** (Hebrew poem line)  
> And set free on the seas of light.
> 
> (line across Draco's chest)  
> **Veeyn sof lalavnuit velazohar eyn keys** (Hebrew poem line)  
> And the whiteness [read: Goodness] is endless and the splendor infinate.
> 
> (words down back)  
> **Veritaugh/ Libertaugh/ Fidertaugh** (bastardization of Latin)  
> Truth/Freedom/Trust.
> 
> (lines down shoulders)  
> **Utsu semi wa/ moto ne hadaka ni/ modorikeri** (Japanese haiku)  
> Empty cicada shell/ as we come/ we go back naked.
> 
> (I took words and phrases from several languages to form the "Goblin" incantation, which is made up of bits of songs and poems. The incantation language itself wasn't just me typing random letters, unlike the single word "legargh" and the insults Harry and Draco (I'm sure you can guess those) were.)
> 
> Welsh lines that Harry and the hag speak, minus a few markings:
> 
> **rhoiír Aifft ar dn**  
> set [Egypt] on fire (do something remarkable)  
> **a oeddech chwi**  
> were you?  
> **yr achlod i ti**  
> shame on you!  
> **Gwelais rwbeth yno nad ’ bth yn angof gennf**  
> I saw something there that I shall never forget  
> **yn anad dim**  
> above all  
> **chwilio am lwbr allan oích adwth**  
> look for a way out of your misfortune
> 
> Spells not found in the HP books:
> 
> **intepescere** to cool off (Latin)  
> **mederi** to heal (Latin)  
> **aveugle** blind (French)  
> **attollere** to lift up (Latin)  
> **speculum reparo** fix mirror (Latin:"mirror" + "to restore")  
> **reseratis foribus** with the door unlocked (Latin)
> 
>  

**List of material** consulted in the writing of this novel:

> _Conway, D.J._ Celtic Magic  
> _Rowling, J.K._ Harry Potter &amp; the Sorcerer's Stone, Harry Potter &amp; the Chamber of Secrets, Harry Potter &amp; the Prisoner of Azkaban, Harry Potter &amp; the Goblet of Fire, Fanatasic Beasts &amp; Where to Find Them, Quidditch Through the Ages  
> _Colbert, D._ The Magical Worlds of Harry Potter  
> _Kronzek, A.Z. &amp; Kronzek, E._ The Sorcerer's Companion  
> _Burnshaw, S., Carmi, T. &amp; Spicehandler, E. _ The Modern Hebrew Poem Itself  
> _Gerald of Wales_ The Journey Through Wales &amp; The Description of Wales  
> The New College Latin &amp; English Dictionary  
> Seven Language Dictionary  
> Teach Yourself Welsh Dictionary  
> also random HP4GU mailing list messages, an online Welsh-English dictionary, and the Babelfish translator.

  


>   
> 
> 
> **author's notes**  
> (in which i get all essay-ish)
> 
>  
> 
> Best to start at the beginning, right?
> 
> **Thank-you's**
> 
> First and foremost I gotta thank Melle, because she pushed and shoved and smacked me around so I wouldn't stop writing this. And then she beta'ed it. Silvia, because she threatened to have a mental breakdown if I didn't get the slash in there somewhere. Meryl, because she threatened basically the same thing. Hopefully everyone's health will improve now. *grin* And also my old friend LadyHawk, because it's been a really long time since she got a mention in my author's notes, and she used to yell at me for not reading HP. Back when I was young and stupid!
> 
> **Rambling about the fic itself**
> 
> It's simply insane how fast I wrote the majority of the first draft of this ( the strange narrative section and several flashbacks were written after the bulk of the novel was done). It's the editing that takes me a million years, because then I'm all unmotivated. You'd think I would be hyped to post this sucker, but no. Even though the research I did for this fic vastly outweighs the research I've done for any other fic.
> 
> Longass novel aside, I am not a Harry/Draco girl. I write Weasleycest, honest! But yet this story is probably going to be what marks me in this fandom (if anything will). I haven't even posted the damn thing as I write this, but I can guess. It's happened before. But back to the point I was trying to make - there's really only so many H/D plots out there that are at least somewhat convincing. There's things in this novel that I took, mostly without even noticing I was doing it, from other fics. Nothing concrete, but general assumptions about the nature of magic in the HP universe and MoM junk. JKR doesn't give us things like that, at least not yet, so we're forced to beg, borrow, and steal ideas from each other to fill in the gaps in the HP universe. Which isn't a bad thing, in my opinion, because what I do with the general idea I got from [wherever] probably isn't the same as what you'd do with that same idea. And the more people who're contributing to a theory on something in the HP universe, the better it is, because it sees more sides.
> 
> I think H/D is a one-shot thing for me, which might be why I did it on such a huge scale (huge scale to me, at least.) I hope all the detail isn't boring. It kind of had to be there, because I found myself having to write all the things JKR hasn't in regards to a lot of stuff about the Wizarding World. And creating backstory to this novel that jived with the books was nuts. There's just so many questions that haven't been answered yet.
> 
> **In regards to the research done for this**
> 
> It's probably pretty obvious where I had to take things from books. All the Celtic stuff is from D.J. Conway's Celtic Magic, which is pretty introductory when it comes to Celtic magic and folklore but gave me enough to work with. There's a reference in this fic that probably only I will get (the bells on the fireplace mantle), but it makes the story ring just a little bit truer for me. And while I'm on the subject of Wales: Both B&amp;N and Borders suck when it comes to books about Wales. I couldn't find anything that they had in stock (besides horribly expensive travel books) except for The Journey Through Wales &amp; The Description of Wales, which are one book and were also written about a thousand years ago. So, you know, not very modern! (But an interesting read, honestly. I'm tempted to read the other stuff this guy wrote.) I spent a good amount of $$ on books for this fic (because the library here sucks too) that I don't know if I'll ever use again. But if anyone ever needs me to look up what a word is in Welsh, no problem.
> 
> It's kind of odd laying that all out - you'd think that for a fandom like HP, which is all supposed fantasy, you wouldn't need to do any research. But no, because just about everything JKR talks about has some historical reference or parallel, or the names mean something (Malfoy, "bad faith"; Voldemort, "flight of death") and you end up having to take all that stuff into account. At least I think you should try to.
> 
> I'll shut up now.


End file.
